Owed to the Ferryman (T)
by RuthieBelle
Summary: William Murdoch is certainly in a fine mess after 10x18 (Hell to Pay) and it seems his nearest and dearest aren't going to be able to help him out. Who else could there possibly be, how will it work out and what will be the price? "M" version also.
1. Sunday Night-William: Part 1

_Title: Owed to the Ferryman_

 _Author: RuthieBelle_

 _Rating: T version_

 _Notes: This is Fallenbelle and RuthieGreen's attempt to come up with ending that solves the dilemma William seems to have found himself in at the end of episode 10x18 as well as address a few other nagging details that bothered us about season 10._

 _Warnings: Death, discord and drama. Oh, and angst too. Seriously, if you're trying to be unspoiled for 10x18, avoid this fic for now._

* * *

 ** _Sunday Night_**

 ** _…_** ** _Julia fought her captor, who had one cruel hand over her mouth and another one around her waist, but the brute paid no attention, as if she weighed nothing, was nothing more troubling than an insect. Was, in fact….Nothing…_**

* * *

 ** _…_** ** _Gunfire erupted from the Heavens, mowing three men down to the hard, unforgiving sanctuary floor. A thunderstorm of deafening noise echoed off stone church walls, hot metal rained like the wrath of God…_**

* * *

 ** _…_** ** _Thomas felt the hard pressure of Chief Davis' gun barrel on his skull. His first thought was:_** **Too late! God dammit, too late!**

 ** _He stiffened and growled defiantly:_** **"** **I'll kill you!"**

 ** _His executioner expressed doubts about that. Thomas heard the noise of a gun cocking above the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears._**

 **'** **Margaret'** ** _was the last thought which crossed his mind just before the gun went off…_**

* * *

Detective Llewellyn Watts waited until Robert Graham had departed the cells, noting the smug, satisfied grin on the man's face.

 _What a nefarious bastard,_ Watts thought. _No doubt the man was up to something, and it is my intention to find out what..._

Making sure that the businessman had left the station, he picked up the telephone and called the operator, asking for the exchange the tall stranger had given him. "Now," Watts said cryptically as he hung up the phone and walked to the cells preparing himself for the worst. No doubt that the businessman would have been less than kind to Detective Murdoch.

Watts observed that while the prisoner hadn't been physically harmed, whatever Graham said had shaken the detective to his core, as Murdoch sat forlornly on the bunk and shook, breathing heavily in an effort to not sob out loud. Watts was concerned with the transformation: _That is not the assured man with whom I am acquainted._

Making sure that his voice would convey strength yet warm sincerity, he walked up to the cell and made sure that he had Murdoch's attention, "Detective Murdoch, it appears you are going to need some help," Watts stated.

Making a supreme attempt to govern his emotions, Murdoch took another deep breath before speaking. "How do I know I can trust you?"

Remembering to keep his face neutral, Watts nodded. "Statistically it is I who should doubt _you_ -you seem to get the people who help you killed, Detective." Waiting to see if Murdoch had an answer for that, Watts waited in vain.

"Don't you have anything to say? A compelling argument to induce me to help you?" he prompted.

Visibly defeated, Murdoch shook his head, exhaling raggedly. When he finally spoke, it was in a whisper of agony: "There isn't any argument I can make. I have nothing to offer and no defense. The truth is I am not sure I deserve any help. My wife…my men, the inspector, _everyone_ , is dead...all because of me. Because I still haven't learned that others fear the truth because they have dangerous things to hide…" he rambled on, clearly growing more distraught.

Watts observed the situation critically: _Oh, to be able to inspire that loyalty in those who are both above and below you. No wonder those ratbags are desperate to discredit the poor man, he has far more strength and character than all of them will ever have. Of course they went for his most vulnerable weakness - his friends and his wife._

 _It's time to nip this in the bud now,_ Watts thought _. Sorrow or guilty feelings aren't going to help anyone here._

"Murdoch. Your freedom is at stake. Each man has to create himself and then live in accordance with this self; you are only responsible for your values regardless of anyone else's. Freedom, in fact, requires such responsibility, if you are to be and act as your …"

William put his head in his hands and groaned, cutting the other man off. "Detective Watts! Please. I am not in any state to engage in a philosophical discussion. Please. State plainly why you are here, or leave. Now."

Watts squinted quizzically. _Perhaps there_ _is_ _some fight left in him if I can bring it out…_ "So that's it? Fake news appears in all the papers and you're just going to give up and let them convict and hang you for a crime that you say you didn't commit? A crime that your wife and your friends—who are no idiots mind you- didn't think you committed either? They risked every...going so far as paying with their lives to prove you innocent. So, you'll have let them all die in vain? Or are so you despondent that you now want to join them?

William said nothing as he stared blankly into space.

 _No doubt what Graham just said to him was devastating._ But Watts pressed on. "Surely you are not pretending your choices are meaningless or random, or you are a victim of forces which have predetermined your fate? I thought you were a man of reason. That you would see that that conniving bastard was lying to serve his own ends because he has nothing else of evidence against you. Furthermore, although I am no Catholic, I thought you would have faith that maybe there's a reason you have survived to this point because God has a purpose for you, and you haven't completed it just yet. Maybe you were meant to take these people down, and that's why you haven't been disposed of yet."

Murdoch looked him directly in his eyes and Watts saw anger reflected there. _Good, an angry Murdoch is better than a defeated one._

Knowing he had the man's full attention, he went on. "You have been with the constabulary for many years, Murdoch. There must be someone who you can call on for help."

William shook his head. "Haven't you seen what's been happening to everyone else? They're dead or missing because they tried to help me, so perhaps you should reconsider; you did point out that risk at the start of your proposition to me. Helping me will put a target on your back."

Watts countered. "Because I'm an outsider, everyone assumes I have no 'horse in the race' as it were _,_ so I've overheard many of Mr. Graham's conversations the past hour as well as what he told you. He doesn't have anything to prove that the people you care about are dead, so he was bluffing to you just now. Why wouldn't he have been lying about that as well? Have faith, Detective. Give me a name, someone who can help you."

A long silence stretched between them, each man latched on to the other's eyes in a wordless tug of war. William ran the list of individuals who could and would provide practical assistance and weighed it against the risk of doing so, as well as giving that person's name to Detective Watts. He pared each name off the list until it finally came down to only one. Reluctantly, he spoke it, seeing the surprise on Watts' face.

"I'll contact you shortly with anything I find," was all Watts stated as he left the cell.

Standing up and pacing his cell, William's mind struggled to make sense through his grief and anger of all that had happened in the past week, pondering what Watts had just said. _What if Watts is right?_ _Is Graham bluffing?_ _Trying to use his leverage to get me to confess knowing he has nothing? But Julia? The Inspector? George?_ Despair overtook him again and he crashed back onto the bunk. _George had still had a pulse last I checked, but Jackson and Higgins? Where was Julia? Has the Inspector found her?_

Fatigue and emotional distress made it difficult to think logically but Watts had a point. He didn't know if the other detective could be trusted, but did he have a choice? _I am running out of friends and Lord knows I could use one right now._ His eyes rested on a wad of newspapers flung on the cell floor, and he tried to smooth them out to read for distraction. The business page focused on nothing that hadn't been reported on at length: Pronouncements from the Colonial Secretary, the usual trade and construction news, something about vessel and railroad transshipping, a warning about labour unrest, but he found his mind would not bend to his will so he set it aside in disgust.

William's head ached ever since he'd been knocked out, and it usually got worse as the day progressed. Lying down, he rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes to rest, the familiar station house smells not providing any comfort. The days and nights had blended together and he honestly didn't know the date any longer nor the last time he'd slept for more than a couple hours' stretch. If he could just get a few hours, perhaps his mind could function properly and he could decide what options (if he had any) were available.

He curled up on the bunk - hard as it was, it was better than he'd had to rest upon on over the last week. Instead of sleep though, it only reinforced Julia's absence and the loss of her comfort. The pang that Julia was possibly dead because of him tore his wounded heart asunder once again and in the quiet solitude of the cell, he didn't bother to hide his tears. He despaired at the thought of never holding his wife again, never again to see her smile at him; all he was left with was the final kiss shared in the morgue shortly before she left for Chicago…the final memory of her brought him to weeping that much harder as he realized it. He also sobbed for anyone else who was now dead because he couldn't heed the Inspector's warning to tread carefully in Dobbs' murder; his stubborn need to pursue the truth at all costs had once again destroyed lives—this time more than just his own. He'd had everything, and he'd lost it all; Julia's death assured pain that would never, ever end.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Father Clemens admonishing him for his despair, acknowledging that Detective Watts had a point when he had said that perhaps there was a reason he wasn't dead yet—that perhaps he was supposed to bring these people down. But William didn't feel particularly brave at the moment; he was far too heartbroken and exhausted for such adventures. Instead he felt like Job, a good man whose ruin was brought forth to demonstrate loyalty and steadfastness to God, and William wasn't as sure of his faith as he wanted to be, to serve a God who had foisted such a challenge on him.

He immediately halted those thoughts. _Or perhaps not Job: being vexed with God is shameful. Instead, a Greek tragedy, something from Euripides where the supposed hero plants the seeds of his own destruction._ In honesty, he thought he might possibly welcome death at that moment. He was already a dead man walking legally and emotionally; physically wouldn't be that much more.

Lost in thought, William heard the door open and heard the footsteps, but he didn't turn around. If it was Davis or Graham returned to taunt him some more, he wasn't in the mood. If it was Watts returned to offer some more philosophical drivel, William hoped that Watts would think he was sleeping and take pity on him. If it was a hired man sent in to kill him, William preferred not to see his murderer. Instead, he remained facing the wall, resolutely ignoring his visitor and instead offering up his final prayers in a sort of self-administered attempt of his last rites. As he confessed his sins he stopped as he couldn't help but recognize the unmistakable scent of expensive Cuban tobacco. His eyes squeezed shut in desperation.

 _It couldn't be. Not now._


	2. Sunday Night-William: Part 2

"Come now, Murdoch. Surely you haven't forgotten our little ritual. I surprise you with my presence, and you utter my name in such an endearing manner. I do enjoy our tradition, Detective. I'd hate to see it retired," he drawled in his unmistakable cadence, pausing to take a long pull from his cigar. "I've known you long enough to know when you're awake and when you're unconscious. I've seen you in both states plenty of times," he added as took another draw from his cigar for effect.

At this comment, the spy saw his quarry roll over and off his bunk to approach. William Murdoch was not his usual well-dressed self, sporting a scruffy red beard and bloodshot, sunken eyes that hadn't seen proper sleep in too long. He was dressed in a battered dark brown split-cowhide coat, riding at odds over what had once been proper trousers and heavily-scuffed shoes. All traces of a gentleman's bearing were erased as well. If he needed further confirmation that all was not well with Murdoch, the man hadn't bothered to hide his distress and the tear marks on his face were quite evident.

William offered a blank stare. "As you see, Meyers, I'm afraid I won't be of much use to you now or ever again. So, if you'll excuse me," he replied as he returned to go back to his bunk.

"That's where you're wrong, Murdoch. Not only have you saved Canada on multiple occasions, you have also saved me. This is where I return the favor. _Quid pro quo,_ if you will."

Meyers offered a bared-tooth smile at the detective's stunned expression as he stepped back from the bars to readjust his black top hat. "Don't act so surprised, Murdoch. Isn't that what friends are for?"

"I…," William began and faltered as he thought for a moment. The blow to his head seemed to make his thinking slower than before. _Friend?_ _Did this repellant man say friend_ _?_

"Does your boss, Commissioner Mr. Sherwood, know you are here, Meyers? And how do you know I didn't do it?" he finally asked, looking down at the ground.

"Oh, I know everything, Murdoch; I know what you were investigating, I know who the key players are, and yes, I admit I have an interest in seeing their downfall as well," he explained, nervous about Murdoch's insights. His masters, after all, counted on him to know everything and assume the worst. What he did not explain was his grave concern that something even blacker than usual was afoot, something beyond even his own reach of information and his own powers of bleak imagination. That he might be in the dark, unawares of some deeper malice, was unnerving in the extreme.

"Then why not handle the matter yourself, Meyers, with all the resources and authority of the country and your vast spy network?" William's suspicion was aroused, his voice full of sarcasm.

Meyers winced internally, careful not to betray the sting of the accusation, so he fell back on his stock answer, just as the detective would expect. "I can't- National Security. Not without damaging my information sources anyway, and exposing other details that I don't care to. But you can, Detective. Once the truth comes out you will once again be above reproach," he lied, wondering if Murdoch knew a promise like that was beyond anyone's making.

William narrowed his eyes. "I am wanted for murder. I have lost both my official authority and any, shall we say, moral authority I might have had. Moreover, I am being directly threatened and targeted. I am hardly the champion you make me out to be." He crossed his arms, challenging. "I have no power."

"Your enemies disagree, Murdoch. That's precisely why you're so dangerous, and why they're trying to discredit you and destroy all that you hold dear. You _are_ a powerful enemy in your own right, Detective. Even the Prime Minister immediately figured something was rotten about this whole matter, such is your reputation with him and his Majesty's government."

"Enough of your insincere courtesies, Meyers," William said quietly. "I'm not the man I once was. My wife, my men…" he trailed off, his anger evaporating as quickly as it came.

"I don't know about your constables, I didn't have time to get the most recent intelligence on them after they were taken to hospital. If you agree to come with me, I'll get you out of here and into hiding. I'll provide you with a safe house for you to lie low outside of town. I'll give you money, supplies, false identities, guns and any assistance I can. If she's alive, I'll also ensure your wife is brought to you, so that the two of you will destroy Williams and Graham. Canada's interests are not served with either one of them," Meyers proposed as he stood back to appraise the man as he took in his offer.

"Do you think you can find Julia?" William asked. It was the only thing that mattered to him at the moment.

"I'm quite certain of it," Meyers retorted with a cryptic move of his mouth. The one thing he knew about men, Murdoch included, was that they are easy enough to manipulate if you had the right motivation. Murdoch's motivations were always the same: the truth at all costs and Julia Ogden. Meyers only hoped he could deliver on the other end of the bluff now that he had laid out the cards for the detective to bid on.

Nodding, William guessed that he had an idea on how to find her through his collection of sources that he didn't want to divulge. That was fine with him, he didn't want to know how Meyers could find Julia and frankly, he didn't care what the man might do to bring her safely back to him.

"All right. You want me to take out Williams and Graham because you can't without exposing your own clandestine activities? Very well, I will do so, but leave my wife out of it. If you find her, tell her I am well, but please arrange for her safety elsewhere, if I am truly going to do what you need me to do," William opened a negotiation.

"No, Detective, if she's alive, you need her. You should know better- that you work best _with_ her; that _she_ makes _you_ better. In the spy game, I've learned that you never underestimate anyone —particularly a woman, and you know better than to devalue her because of her sex either. So don't shelter her," Meyers advised. "Besides, she would kill me if I knew where you were and refused to tell her. So if I find her and you won't help me, don't think I won't go straight to her and get her to do it, because she is formidable in her own right,"

Buoyed at the man's words and offer as well as the prospect of holding Julia again, William Murdoch abandoned his defeated persona and attempted to resume a more competent self. _Both Meyers and Watts were right. What other options did he have?_ Laughing bitterly, he shook his head.

"Very well, Meyers. I will assist you. But are you really going to just take me out through the front door?" William asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, that's exactly what I'm going to do," Meyers drawled. "Constable?" Meyers called.

In walked a man William did not recognize yet he wore Station 4 insignia. _He must be one of Chief Davis' henchmen,_ William thought. "Yes, sir?" the man asked.

"On order of the Prime Minister, you are going to release this man into my custody. Not only is he wanted for murder, he's also wanted for crimes against Canada herself," he stated, handing the officer a warrant signed by the Prime Minister.

While the constable in charge was clearly reluctant to release Murdoch, a phone call from Wilfred Laurier's office in addition to the paperwork persuaded him otherwise.

With William handcuffed and literally walked out the front door of the station and loaded into a black carriage, they sped off.

As soon as they were out of sight of the station, Meyers apologized for the pretense.

"Apologies for the handcuffs, Murdoch, but they're for show. I'm going to unlock them and give you the key. You may take them off inside the carriage, but each time you step outside, you'll need to put them back on. In a few minutes, we're going to meet another carriage and my men, Andrews and Stanton will be escorting you to another rendezvous point. There, you will take another carriage to another point and you will board yet another carriage. Once they are satisfied that you are not being followed by Williams, Graham or their henchmen, you will be escorted to a cottage in an undisclosed location. In the meantime, I will go and find your wife. I'm assuming that you have a predetermined location that you two have agreed to use as a meeting point should anything ever happen to either of you. What is it?" Meyers asked.

William was surprised at Meyers' guess and merely nodded. "In the alley behind the Queen's Hotel. If I am there, I write the element shorthand for sodium "Na" with a piece of chalk. If she sees it, she writes "H20" or the chemical symbol for water along with a number that signifies a time," William explained, feeling guilty that he was divulging their secret plan to another.

Meyers' brow furrowed as he attempted to deduce the significance of those two symbols. "Sodium burns in water, how is that…" he began to ask as realization dawned on him and William scowled at the man's correct deduction. "I see. You are the benign element – sodium – that burns in her water. Quite titillating, Detective," he commented, laughing at the man's obvious discomfort.

"Very well, Murdoch. However, if we locate her, I'd rather not take her against her will again, so is there something else that only the two of you would know. An intimate detail - something you've never uttered to another soul."

A detail immediately came to mind and William coloured automatically; even the thought was mortifying. But, it was something that only he and Julia knew as he had certainly never whispered it to another person. _In for a penny, in for a pound._

"Absinthe. A science experiment among a grove of trees in our favorite spot in the park," William quietly stated though his telltale blush hinted at the scandalous nature of his "proof."

Meyers laughed again as they pulled up to a waiting carriage outside town. "Well, well, Murdoch. I don't suppose you care to elaborate further?" he wryly asked as Murdoch shot him a withering glance.

"Very well, then. It's good to see you returning to your old self, Murdoch. You know both Andrews and Stanton as you've worked with them before. As for me, I'll be behind you with your wife. I assure your safety," he promised. "You're both far too valuable to me to do otherwise."


	3. Sunday Night: Julia

Seeing Councilor Franklin Williams unmasked and hearing his threat sent ice water through Julia's veins. She struggled against an incredibly strong thug who was dragging her backwards out of the building into a dark alleyway with Mr. Williams getting pressed into holding the door open. The man who had her in his grasp was adept at always keeping her off balance while he pursued an argument with Williams - an argument to which she paid only scant attention while focusing on escape, hoping their disagreement would give her an opportunity since she did not think she could get away from two men working together.

"Finish her off, and let's be done with it!" Mr. Williams growled when the three of them were outside.

"No!" The thug suddenly thrust Julia at the councilor. "Here! You want her dead? You do it yourself like you did for Dobbs," he ordered in a gravelly voice.

Julia stumbled forward, and used her momentum to lunge at Mr. Williams, hoping to topple him over, but it did not work. Williams was more solid than he appeared and he hooked a hand in her hair to pull her up short and then got his hands around her neck from behind.

Julia's lungs burned and she saw spots before her eyes, hungry and desperate as she was to get air. She heard Williams ordering his henchman to bring the wagon around back, showing how confident he was he could subdue one troublesome woman. Striking that bastard and bloodying his nose was terribly satisfying, but the surge of adrenalin was failing as fast as her breath: the man had her by the neck, squeezing her slender throat closed as time lost all meaning. Julia's thoughts scurried in terror from one solution to another to save her own life for she instinctively knew: no one was coming to rescue her, not this time.

 _Damn you, William Murdoch!_ She cursed her husband's meddlesome ways, needing the energy of rage to keep her going. Then…. _Think! Think while you still can!_ Her mind whirred, going through options, calling on her forte—the human body and mind.

Franklin Williams had apparently already killed once by strangulation and it seems he developed a taste for it rather rapidly… except Julia knew garroting a helpless man was not the same thing as using one's bare hands to throttle the life from someone who could fight back.

 _He probably has no idea how long it can actually take to kill a person this way,_ a small clinical part of her mind offered, _and he does not know where to put his hands for maximal effectiveness_.

Julia realized what she had to do, when her whole being screamed at her to do otherwise. She reached her hands up above her head as if to scratch at his eyes, and then…surrendered….

* * *

…a small figure crept along in the shadows with quick, light steps, keeping to the side of the building and then peered around to the entrance. In the darkness ahead, the front door opened and closed noiselessly. The figure hesitated only for a fraction, then plunged on, ducking under the windows to remain hidden from anyone inside…

* * *

As Julia's legs gave out and she sagged, her slight frame became dead weight in Franklin William's hands. He reacted by loosening his grip on her throat and bending forward to lay his lifeless burden down.

Julia responded by reaching up and behind her, finding the sharpened bit of wooden clothes hanger she fashioned and had hidden in her hair, and driving it as hard as she could into Franklin William's flesh. His screeching howl galvanized her as she took in a deep gulp of oxygen. She heaved herself upright as he fell to his knees, the end of the stick poking out of his right eye and blood leaking around his fingers. "You bitch!" he cried as he tried to grab her sleeve. Still gasping for breath, she kicked at him but his fist caught in her skirt and pulled her off her feet as he struggled to use his weight advantage on her. She fell on him which jostled the stick in his face and he screamed again, allowing her to get free.

She ran down the narrow cobbled lane a dozen steps, right into Williams' masked henchman. He picked her up easily and dragged her back to where Councilman Williams was cursing angrily.

"She's put my eye out! Help me!" he whined.

"Nay! She is no threat to me as I don't plan to have her see my face, and I will not hurt a woman. You decided to make this problem," the other man answered, while still not letting go of her. "Mr. Graham wants her alive—for now."

"Graham says to do what you are told!" Williams argued back.

"Aye—and my services are on contract with Mr. Graham, _not_ you, and I am not for the killing of someone whom I'm not ordered to."

Williams spit in rage. " ** _I_** am ordering you!"

The man gave a grating laugh. "You?! You are Mr. Graham's boot-lick- he _owns_ you! You misunderstand, councilor —I am here to mind you keep your place, not take orders from you. My brotherhood has a code, even if you politicians have none, and killing women or children who have done no harm to Mr. Graham is beyond the Pale."

With that he put her down, but kept a tight grip on her arm. "I brought the wagon around as you asked, but I think it is you I will offer a ride." He turned to Julia, his green eyes locked onto hers through his mask. "You are warned, doctor. If Mr. Graham gives the order, the Black Hand will come after you, and everyone you love or care about if we have to, and we will never stop." Then he inexplicably released her and turned his attention to hustling Councilor Williams over to the wagon. Williams protested the whole way, neither man ever once looking back.

She called out after them— "Don't pull it out yourself, get a doctor to do it!"

Julia was left confused, bruised and shaken in the darkness, her throat still choking and burning as she took in every painful breath of damp night air. She shivered for more reasons than the cold temperature, pulling her arms about her. The clatter of the wagon was receding when she jumped at the sound of a gunshot from the direction of the building. Her heart, which had started to slow down a little, revved up again and her shaking was more pronounced. _Adrenalin, it is just adrenalin,_ she reassured herself.

She walked to the back door and paused with her hand on the knob, not sure she wanted it to be unlocked or not… It was not.

 _Was that Chief Constable Davis, come to clean up the mess? Could he have been in there with William? Who or what got shot?_ That question and her need for an answer forced her to stuff her fears and propel herself back into the house to stealthily retrace her steps, sniffing the air for the smell of gunpowder she found it. That she was behaving exactly in the way she cursed her husband for moments before, she conveniently ignored. The closer she got the stronger the smell, and then she heard voices echoing ahead of her. She quietly pushed open the baze door and was shocked at what she saw, the body lying face up, illuminated by moon light.

"Inspector Brackenreid!" she exclaimed in a harsh whisper, rushing over.

Standing next to Thomas Brackenreid was his wife, Margaret, the pistol she wielded still in her hand. "Don't worry, doctor, he's not dead," Margaret claimed. "I'm not as good a shot as I thought I'd be." Her eyes glittered feverishly.

Kneeling on the floor, the Inspector was applying pressure to a wound in Chief Constable Jeffrey Davis' shoulder. "Dr. Ogden, some help please?" he asked. "We need this man alive and well so he can testify and be fit enough for jail. He's just passed out from the pain…I think."

"What happened?" Julia came over to check on the Inspector's field dressing, and saw it was adequate and that Davis was coming around. "Keep pressure on it and I will get something to bind it up."

"I let Murdoch out of the cells so he could get the goods on Davis and Graham to clear his name. Then I came looking for you," he said to her.

"And I followed _him_ ," Margaret added, pointing at her husband. She was dressed in what Julia took to be an old pair of her son's trousers, jacket and boots with her hair captured in a soft cap. "You are not the only woman who will come to her husband's defense!" She looked at him fondly and then back at Julia with pride. "Thomas tried to send me and our sons away but he would not say why. He should know better than to try to keep me in the dark after all these years… So, I saw to the boy's needs and came back—"

"Some copper I am, not knowing me' own wife was tracking me!" The Inspector shrugged.

Margaret explained. "I needed to know what was going on. He had that look about him…like I was never going to see him again…" she choked up briefly. "So I decided to put on a disguise to follow him. Thomas came to this house, and I noticed _him_ ," she pointed to Davis, "getting out of a buggy and sneaking around and I did not like the looks of it one bit."

She said this completely without irony.

"I saw another man call two others away from guarding the front of the place, clearing the way, so I came inside. Out of nowhere, Davis had the drop on me…" The Inspector told Julia, smiling with a mixture of satisfaction and bewilderment at his wife. "Had a gun right to my head, and I heard the pistol cock, and thought I was a goner for sure."

Margaret frowned, and showed off her handgun. "I fired first. Thomas keeps this in the night stand, already loaded." She shrugged when Julia raised her eyebrows. "Well, I _am_ the wife of an inspector after all, so I taught myself to use it." When her husband gasped she grinned. "What? You thought I fired willy-nilly in your direction?"

The Inspector came over and took it from her, then hugged her fiercely. "Woman, you amaze me!" And he meant it sincerely.

He turned to Julia, who completed her bandaging of Davis' wound. "What happened with you? I saw the cloak room," he gestured to the large closet where Julia was held. "Did you escape? Did they let you go?"

"Not exactly," Julia shook her head, not really understanding why the man let her go. "I will tell you later, but I don't think it's safe here—we have to go."

The Inspector narrowed his eyes. "Agreed. But what do we do with _him_?" he asked, pointing the gun in Davis' direction.

All three of them looked at Davis, who had started groaning and clutching his shoulder. "If it was up to me, I'd tie him up and put him in that cloak room," Julia suggested.

"Or worse!" The Inspector poked a toe into the wounded man. "But we need him. I think he's the key to all of this. I let him get away the first time and look where it has led to now."

"Can't we just get him arrested? I saw him try to kill you, Thomas," Margaret flared indignantly.

Her husband weighed that idea, eventually discarding it. "No. At this point we do not know whom we can trust, and there are too many fingers of corruption in the constabulary. We may just have to leave him here…"

Julia's eyes brightened up. "Actually, I think I have a better idea. By the looks of him, he will need that bullet taken out. We tie him up. We put him in his buggy and find a secure location to stash him, for his protection as well as ours. My guess is that after this debacle his masters will want him eliminated…" she coughed this last part out.

"That's very bloody-minded of you," the Inspector told her approvingly, loudly enough for Davis to overhear clearly even in his semi-conscious state. "He was only a means to an end and when they have no more need for him—out he goes, and I don't mean lose his job…"

The Inspector found the buggy where his wife said it would be and brought it to the back door. It took the three of them to bundle Davis into it with his mouth, feet and hands bound. They worked quickly, with the Inspector filling her in with what he knew was happening with her husband and Julia giving a fuller picture of what happened with Councilor Williams.

Thomas expressed his shock and outrage. "I knew Graham had the goods on all the high and mighty in the city—but to order Councilor Williams to kill Dobbs! And then for Franklin Williams to actually do it!" Margaret put out a comforting hand to interrupt him from shouting. "Graham, or whomever is funding him, is the head of this snake—we have to take him down, completely, to put everything to right," the Inspector finished.

"I agree, Inspector," Julia nodded as she brought herself up into the buggy's seat and took the reins. **"** You and Margaret have already risked too much—Inspector, by now everyone knows you were fired, expects you to slink off in disgrace, or perhaps that your wife took the children and left you because of the shame…"

"Never!" Thomas and Margaret reacted in unison to all of those ideas, embracing each other for mutual support. The Inspector started explaining what he wanted to do next.

Julia cut him off. "Hear me out. You did what my husband asked you to do—you found me. Chief Davis may have wanted you dead, but I don't think Mr. Graham is too fond of Davis. One never likes to keep a blackmailer around, especially if one prefers to be the _blackmail-_ _ **er**_ and not the _blackmail-_ _ **ee**_ —given your information about Mr. Graham keeping secrets on so many powerful men in Toronto." Julia thought about her kidnapper's argument with Williams and his threats towards her even while letting her go. "Franklin Williams has been spirited off to parts unknown. He and Chief Davis are still dangerous—because we have no proof. Furthermore, Mr. Graham appears to have gotten himself involved with the Black Hand. You do not need Mr. Graham sending out men from that organization to hunt you and your family down." She saw Margaret's eyes go wide with worry, grabbing her husband's arm tightly while shaking her head _'no.'_

"You know I am right." Julia looked carefully into the Inspector's face, seeing the conflict within him. Pressure from his wife sealed the deal.

The Inspector reluctantly agreed. "All right. I think I know where we can lay low and still not be so far away." He tried to hand Margaret into a seat in the buggy.

"No." Julia said. "I am taking Davis. We have to split up—it's safer that way. I want to get to William and make a plan."

The Inspector rummaged in his coat pocket and came up with a few bills and coins. "We can split this, just enough to get by…"

Margaret stopped him. "What about _his_ wallet?" She put her hands on her hips. "It's not exactly like stealing, is it? He was going to kill you!"

Her husband's face bloomed into a devilish smile. "He'll not be needing it wherever he is going." He bent and extracted a billfold from Davis, dividing a wad of cash. "Selling out your mates apparently pays well, Jeffrey," he observed disgustedly.

"Where will you take him?" Margaret asked about the man she had shot.

Julia smiled smugly. "Well…I still have keys to the no-longer-used basement portion of the asylum. It's quite sound proof actually…."


	4. Monday Morning: Julia

As the night sky began to give way to dawn, Julia left the asylum and drove away in the black buggy, hoping to remain unnoticed before early morning traffic started filling Toronto's roadways. She decided Margaret Brackenreid had the right idea, so she shed her own torn and dirty green dress and lifted a set of men's clothing and boots from the hospital's lockers and hid her hair, hoping to look like an average workingman who was either on his way to or from a job. She certainly sounded like one with a croaking voice, thanks to the swelling in her throat from being throttled. A grey wool jacket and leather gloves protected her against the cold, clammy air.

At the asylum, she had found two of her female medical college students, Anne Baxter and Katherine Roy, on rotation in the building. They proved happy to help their mentor, so with their assistance (and a nice syringe full of heroin, plus a gurney) Jeffrey Davis was treated for his wound and ensconced in a locked, nether cell. The students were prepared to keep an eye on him and his veins loaded with drugs that will also disturb his memory for the short term, as long as they could do so without being caught. If they needed to communicate anything to her, they would do so by leaving a note written tucked into pages 373 and 374 of an old, out of date anatomy book: the 1862 edition of Gray's Anatomy resting in the asylum reference library, easily and anonymously accessed.

Chivvying the horse along, Julia had nothing but gratitude for those two women willing to take the risk helping her, but it was not enough to counter acute fear and dread about the gossip she heard: Three unnamed constables had been shot and William was under arrest again and in jail. She decided to abandon Davis' non-descript buggy by the railyard where it might go unnoticed amongst others just like it, and take the unremarkable horse with her for the rest of her journey, again enhancing her disguise as a workman. She made sure her face was dirtied with a swipe of coal dust and kept herself low as she rode bareback into the more populous areas, her collar turned up and a scarf around her neck to hide the nasty bruises on the throat.

As soon as there was more traffic, she dismounted, eventually leading the animal down an alley behind the Queen's Hotel, the predetermined communication spot with William. Preparing herself for disappointment, she approached the designated wall and her hopes were buoyed to see his mark of "Na" on the bricks. _When did he put that there? How did he get out of jail?_

Finding the piece of chalk on the ground, she sketched her mark of "H2O" along with the time of seven a.m.

Hoping that William would soon see her mark and time, she led the horse away from the upscale Queen's hotel and towards a more rough and tumble harbor neighborhood a few blocks south for a quick breakfast and to hide in plain sight, taking advantage of the busy morning rush to go unnoticed by blending in with the numbers of hungry, busy men. She found a stable for the horse and paid for a week, not sure if she'd need it again but wanting it to be fed and refreshed if she did.

Making it a point to be done eating shortly before seven o'clock, she slipped out of the café and went to their rendezvous spot, hoping that she would soon be reassured by William's presence. At a few minutes past seven, she heard footsteps behind her and with her heart soaring, she turned to greet her husband, only to be confronted instead by Terrence Meyers.

Gasping, she stepped back and hoped that William was nearby, glancing around her for his presence. "You!" she croaked.

"Relax, Doctor Ogden, I'm here as a friend, and not a foe," the man said to reassure her with his hands outstretched to demonstrate they were empty.

 _Where is William?_ Her eyes frantically darted along the street, looking for armed men or constables, as well as an exit strategy, but she found none. Gathering her misgivings she stepped closer to the man, wondering what the devil he knew.

 _"Mr. Meyers,"_ she hissed sharply. _"_ _Where is William, and how the hell did you know of our signal to one another?"_ she demanded, forcing words out of her painful throat.

Meyers snickered. "I took him from the cells last night and placed him under my protective custody. You know as well as I that he was not safe here in the city or in the cells with the corrupt constabulary, so he is comfortably ensconced in a safe house at the Prime Minister's behest," he quietly and quickly explained.

"Did he instruct you to make the mark behind the hotel?" she asked still scanning for an escape route from Meyers' clutches.

"He did indeed. Doctor Ogden, as I stated before, the Constabulary leadership at the present time is dangerously corrupt and cannot be trusted. The Prime Minister and I trust both you and your husband to right matters, but not immediately. It's safer for both of you outside the city until things calm down," he quickly explained.

"So, you told me you have custody of my husband?" Julia's skepticism was hard to hide.

"I do. As a matter of fact, he has asked me to bring you to him. But since I'd rather not abduct you against your will again, he's given me another piece of evidence to convince you to come with me willingly. A proof of life, if you will," he stated quietly.

"Oh, and what is that?" She remained suspicious of this spymaster.

"Besides being the sodium that burns up in your water, your husband mentioned a science experiment that took place in a park with a bottle of Absinthe. Although I'm curious as to what kind of experiment was conducted…?" Meyers trailed off with a sly grin.

Despite her coal stained face, Julia visibly blanched under her hat. But she said nothing, making Meyers senses twitch in anticipation.

"I made him tell me something that only the two of you would know. I didn't ask that it be of a scandalous nature, yet I find it quite titillating that he gave me such a detail. I guess you could surmise that he has been missing you most ardently. Perhaps you can tell me more on the ride to the secret location?" he wondered.

"No, Mr. Meyers. I'm afraid your imagination will have to suffice," she replied with a raspy laugh. "But you can explain more to me about what you want in exchange for this help," she cautiously replied as she agreed to follow him to a parked carriage. "Also, I would like to purchase a few things before we get there. William and I have no other clothes or personal items it seems."

"Of course, Dr. Ogden. We will make the necessary purchases before arriving," he promised as he reminded himself not to assist her into the carriage as she was dressed as a man – a detail he found particularly attractive as he admired her fine backside in her snug trousers.

Mr. Meyers ordered the carriage to start moving, explaining how he was going to reunite her with her husband and make sure the location remained a secret. As she did not care to share anything about what happened to her or the inspector before discussing it with William, the remainder of the ride was largely in silence. It disturbed her that Meyers did not ask about Jeffrey Davis or Franklin William, making her wonder if he already knew: _That_ sent a shudder up her spine.

Also somewhat unnerving was the way he was leering at her. Finally acknowledging that he had been caught looking, he laughed. "I must say Dr. Ogden, it's a damn shame it's not more acceptable for women to wear trousers. They suit you if I may be so bold," he admitted.

Snorting, Julia shook her head and resumed looking out the window.

A short while later, they pulled into a small town and stopped at an out of the way general store for additional clothes, coats, and boots for both her and William as well as various toiletries and knapsacks for the meager belongings. Meanwhile, Meyers had the driver buy some fresh food and other provisions, while Meyers himself stayed out of sight in the carriage.

Julia was more and more irritated each time they were forced to change transportation. Eventually she and Meyers were seated in the back of a canvass- covered wagon, bouncing on a rutted road, the man having altered his own appearance from top-hatted dandy to farmer. He was careful to remain covered up—she caught only a glimpse, but the man's tribal tattoos remained, just as William described.

"Doctor, we are almost there. I have to emphasize to you—you and Murdoch are under my protection. You have a mandate to bring Mr. Graham, his cronies, Mr. Williams and the corruption on the city Board of Control and in the Toronto Constabulary to all come crashing down. I will be able to offer resources, but I cannot be involved in the take down, nor can the government _per se_ be seen to be meddling in this affair. After I drop you off I will need to be back in Ottawa, to give anyone who cares the idea that we are done with Toronto and your husband has been disappeared into the hinterlands or some dark jail somewhere reserved for traitors. The world has to see it that way, do you understand?"

Julia just looked at him. _Terence Meyers always makes the most outrageous statements as if they were everyday things._ She cleared her aching throat. "Is that all?"

She didn't expect such a loud guffaw out of him and it startled her.

"I hope your husband appreciates your priceless sense of humour, doctor. But do you understand? I need you to make sure your husband sticks to the job, beyond being motivated to exonerate himself."

"What I understand is that you are trading our current freedom and safety to do your dangerous dirty work." Julia glared back, not amused in the least.

"I don't know that either you or your husband have your freedom at present, but otherwise, yes, you understand perfectly." Meyers seemed very pleased. The wagon shook to a halt. "We are here."


	5. Monday Morning: William and Julia

Julia threw the canvas up and dropped out the back of the wagon, inhaling earthy country air. A small grey cottage, set back behind a screen of trees appeared to be the destination. She took off for the door, opening it and calling out for her husband. The house appeared to be uninhabited. Julia searched the four rooms with alarm, rounding on Mr. Meyers when he entered behind her. "Where is he? You lied to me! Where is William?" Her voice cracked under the strain and she was prepared to punch him if she did not get a straight answer.

"Easy does it, doctor. The house is not where we are going. Come outside and to the barn."

Meyers' snigger was unbearable. She raced outside, going behind the house to the barn. "William?" she called out as a door slid back, revealing her husband framed by the opening. In an instant, she ran into his arms and buried her face in his neck, his stubble a silent testament to having survived as long as he had.

"Oh, Julia!" was all William could say, his face in her hair and feeling crushed by her fierce hug while delighting in the gift of being able to hold her again.

"William, you're all right!" Julia's eyes raked his face and did a quick scan of his body to reassure herself that he was relatively unscathed. His beard was growing fast, his hair was too long and he smelled as rank as a street urchin, yet he was the best thing she'd seen in a week.

For his part, holding her again made his knees weak—the realization of nearly losing her was overwhelming and he nearly wept in both relief and joy. "Julia! Thank God. What happened to you?" he asked, indicating her neck, and glaring at Meyers.

"Later" she whispered, and hugged him even tighter.

The driver and Mr. Meyers followed with crates containing their purchases, interrupting the reunion. "How romantic, it's a good thing there's a private room for the both of you," he offered sarcastically with a smirk. "Murdoch, Doctor, you are to stay inside this building. You are not to leave, not to be seen outside for any reason until I come for you myself," he directed while fishing out a cigar and lighting it, exhaling dramatically.

"Meyers, we cannot investigate anything stuck out here," William objected.

"You need to lay low while things quiet down before going back in disguise and starting your job. This is my area of expertise, Detective. You stick to yours."

William's relief as having Julia with him was tempered by needing to know about his work-mates and friends. "Do you have any word on Constables Crabtree, Higgins and Jackson?"

Julia swiveled her head at William's anguished tone. "What are you talking about? _Those_ are the officers who were shot?" She'd heard about the outrage when she was at the asylum, but her students did not have names of the victims.

Meyers stated simply, "No."

William winced and explained to his wife. "I believe they were lured to the Church at Yonge and Heath, expecting to meet me, and instead they were shot at. All three of them were down…"

"A conscience is such a burden, isn't it, Murdoch?" Meyers threw down cruelly.

"Not that you'd know…" William's temper was frayed, so he curbed himself with effort. "Thank you for bringing Julia to me. Do you know what has happened to Inspector Brackenreid?"

William waited for an answer, seeing something odd playing out. Meyers kept looking at Julia, Julia merely looked back. "Julia?" He asked his wife, thinking he'd be more likely to get somewhere with her.

"He's fine, William. He and Margaret are well and safe by now—no, I don't know where. We decided it was better that way." She was still not going to outright tell Mr. Meyers about Franklin Williams and Jeffrey Davis until after she told William. In fact, there was a great deal she wanted to talk about with William, privately, and needed to do so very soon.

Waving his cigar around, Terrence Meyers actually winked at them. "Stay put. Tell me who I should try and contact for you, anyone who might access to information, and anyone who has proof of the corruption."

"It is more than corruption, it is murder." William remembered what the Inspector had said about shady land deals being commonplace, the implication having been no need for anyone to kill or die over one.

"We need someone who knows how the scheme is put together, what and who is being protected, what the end game might be. So, Murdoch, who do you know that fits the bill?" Meyers retorted pointedly. "And why, do you think, did Mr. Graham offer to bargain with you?" He slid his eyes towards Julia while zeroing in on Murdoch's head shaking 'no' with anxiety. _Interesting,_ he thought. _Too bad there is no surveillance inside this building, I'd love to be a fly on the wall when Murdoch gets grilled by his wife._

William launched himself into answering to forestall Meyers' curiosity. "Graham thought he had leverage—it was why Julia was kidnapped, as for people who might have proof of the corruption, I assume individuals on the Board of Control, in the business community, perhaps. "

Julia was not at all happy with William's answer, wondering what he was withholding. She got up and found some water to wash the soot from her face. Then she peered out of the window to see what she could of the property. Later she'd ask William where he thought they were, certain that he'd already found some way to figure that out. _Probably by the stars or the geology of the place…._

When William finished his recitation, he came to stand beside her at the single window while Meyers and his aide-de-camp packed up. While she and William both looked out, a man stepped from the cottage, locking it behind him. His size, stature and bearing seemed familiar to Julia and once he approached the barn and made contact with his striking green eyes, she recognized him at once, recoiling from him and unconsciously fleeing behind William.

"What is it, Julia?" William asked, grabbing her hand.

"This is one of the masked men from last night! He eventually let me go, but not before standing idly by and watching Franklin Williams try to strangle me. In fact, he told Williams to kill me!" Julia exclaimed, upset at seeing this man again.

"A masked man? What are you talking about?" William asked in alarm.

Julia answered angrily. "Last night, two masked men tried to grab me out of the cloak room they were holding me in and spoke of getting rid of me, those were their exact words. **_He_** was one of those men. He told Councilor Williams to kill me himself and did nothing to stop it!"

"Meyers!?" William jerked the door open. "What is going on and who are you?" He shouted, stepping forward and immediately punching the new man in the face.

Julia would be lying if she tried to say she didn't find William's violent defense of her satisfying. But before the man could react and strike William himself, Meyers stepped in between them.

"Now gentlemen, allow me to explain. Mr. Grier here, is one of my men on the inside as well as a source. He's already told me what happened with Dr. Ogden," Meyers offered.

Now it was Julia's turn to step forward. "Yes, he stood idly by as another man tried to kill me," she countered. William grabbed her and shoved her behind him.

"What on earth is going on, Meyers?" William snapped, taking a step forward towards Grier again, flexing his painful hand from the punch he delivered.

"Detective, your wife got herself out of the situation just as I expected she would, considering how well I was briefed on both of your capabilities." Mr. Grier glanced at Meyers. "I knew she would feign death and attack Williams once he thought her disposed of, and she did too."

He turned to Julia and bowed slightly, oblivious to the fury in her face. "Doctor, I already spotted the pointed stick you had in your hair as if it was there to hold your braid up. You were thoroughly searched for weapons before, so I assumed you created one for yourself you were planning to use." He then addressed the detective. "She blinded him by stabbing him in the eye, which he ended up losing, by the way; he will be in hospital for at least a week. They're also concerned about a secondary infection as well, but I certainly won't be losing any sleep from it," the man explained. "Your wife had things well in hand. That's why I refused to do the deed myself."

"You threatened me, Mr. Grier. You work for the Black Hand," Julia pointed out.

"No. I let you go with a warning so that I could protect my cover. That was for Councilor Williams' benefit."

 _Julia was attacked and choked? She blinded Franklin Williams?_ William's slack-jawed face swiveled from his wife to Meyers to Grier, whom he still felt like punching. "You work for Terrence Meyers, you knew about all of this and you did nothing?!" In outrage he closed the distance again to get his hands on one or both of the men, at this point he did not care which one he connected with first.

Meyers stepped forward again, using his height and a booming voice. "All right!" he shouted, then waited while everyone calmed down a little. "We have much to discuss and I think all of us need some rest," Meyers tried placating them. "Doctor, Detective Murdoch will show you the living quarters…it's not as rudimentary as it appears. We will all discuss the next steps this evening, and I will contact Ottawa and let them know that I won't be departing until tomorrow," he finished.

After cautioning them one more time to remain in the barn, Meyers drove off to contact his superiors, trailing smoke behind him, leaving the couple alone together for the first time since they kissed in the morgue more than a week ago.

All William wanted to do was hold and kiss her again, so happy and grateful for her life and being restored to him, but there was more work to do before he could enjoy his desires, and more he needed to know. "Tell me what happened, starting with Inspector Brackenreid," he asked anxiously.

Julia smiled and came closer to William, poking him in the chest. "I think today I am proud to be amongst the female of the species. Margaret Brackenreid saved her husband's life right when Chief Constable Davis was about to kill him!" She went on to detail those events and the location of Davis, theoretically sequestered anonymously at the asylum.

William was impressed and told her so. "Were I a betting man, I certainly would never bet against either of you. Is there any way to get in touch with them?"

"The inspector's family has gone into hiding—I do not know where, but he was certain they could stay out of harm's way, using the Chief Constable's own money." Julia was pleased about that, but wished she was as confident about the security of the Inspector and his family. "I am not sure how long Mr. Davis can stay hidden—a few days perhaps." Julia shook her head, sharing a deep worry she had. "I wonder who will get to him first—Mr. Graham? Friends or enemies?"

"Terrence Meyers? The Black Hand?" William added. "Davis is a liability to Mr. Graham and his backers. The Black Hand may be an American criminal enterprise, but they have operatives in Toronto and are very dangerous, and if they are doing Mr. Graham's bidding well…I think you may have saved Davis' life, Julia, at least in the short run. If no one knows he is there at the asylum he may stay alive." He looked at her, seeing she was sagging a little and wanted to get her upstairs and into bed at once. He offered her his hand. "Shall we?" He piled all their provisions into a single crate and secured a rope around it, then guided her to a ladder leading towards a loft, climbing up after her. Once upstairs, he pulled the provisions up behind him, then approached a false wall, and unlocked it with a key around his neck and he led her into a cool, dark room.

Julia saw it was basic shelter, but with a fully plumbed bathroom with a small tub and toilet, a double bed and electricity, it was better than she had thought when she realized that she would be sleeping in a barn, and certainly better than that cloak room she'd been confined to. Locking the door behind them, William pulled her towards him by her bottom and began kissing her. Even with his beard that gave him an entirely different, rougher appearance, he was still a handsome man. He didn't look like her typically polished, perfectly presented man, yet he was sexy in a rough, exciting and new way—and Julia was utterly captivated.

No matter how tired he was, holding was the only thing on his mind. "Oh, Julia. I was afraid I'd lost you," he murmured as he unbuttoned her shirt and removed the bandages with which she had bound her breasts. "In fact, I almost did." Tilting her head by her chin, Julia felt his fingers trace the bruises that Franklin Williams' hands had left and felt him tense in anger before allowing his hands to trail down her neck to her breasts.

"Please William, please…," she moaned as his hands made quick work of her trousers, slipping them to the floor.

He responded immediately to seeing her limbs. "Exquisite, and so lovely, oh, Julia…"

He wanted to reassure her, and no doubt himself, that she was really here, with him, safe and sound. William hesitated, concerned about approaching his wife for intimacy when he was in such a disheveled state and unsure of how receptive she would be considering what she had been through, yet he needed to have her as close to him as possible. Her sigh and the buckling of her knees as he tenderly kissed her bruised throat and fondled her breast pushed any doubts aside. She tasted sweet and salty to his tongue and her nipple plumped under his caress, eliciting another soft sound from her lips. Encouraged, he swung her up in his arms, enjoying the twin sensations of her warmth and weight, the solidness of her body against his chest getting his heart pumping and his blood hot, stoking a flare of desire and temporarily banishing any exhaustion.

"Oh, Julia..." he repeated himself, nuzzling her neck again, breathing in her scent. _How I missed that!_

Julia appreciated that William was gentle and reverential in his lovemaking, just as he typically was of late. Given their mutual state of enervation, the event was not particularly dynamic, though he did ensure that she received pleasure before taking his own immediately thereafter.

Tightly wrapping his arms about her as though she might again escape, he kissed her head before falling into a deep slumber, a smile upon his face. Smiling at him in return, she traced the lines of worry that seemed a little deeper than they had been a week previous.

Knowing that she should get some sleep herself, Julia could not quell the concern in her mind, namely that the encounter lacked true passion and was more about satisfying a need. _Not unlike a quick_ meal, she thought before admonishing herself.

Given all the danger that they had just faced, the fact that both of them had feared the other one dead, shouldn't the encounter have been, well _….. More_? Once upon a time, William had unleashed his passion upon her which resulted in intense connections. Yet, not for the first time the nagging doubt that William did not desire her as he once did flitted through her mind, but finally ceding exhaustion, she turned away from him and tried to ignore the pervading sense of disappointment that their reunion encounter lacked the hunger of earlier assignations.

 _He's alive. That's all that matters,_ she reminded herself as she surrendered to sleep herself.


	6. Monday Night

William rolled over and stretched, momentarily thinking he was back in his bed at the Windsor with Julia at his side. Their sexual reunion had been brief, then resulted in long-delayed rest for them both. Now, right next to him was a vision of beauty that was his wife, hair flung everywhere, sleeping soundly just inches away.

" _Thank God_ ," he murmured again. William shuddered recalling the impact of Graham's threats about Julia and word of the constables being shot. Not knowing the outcome cut at him, and he hoped Meyers would bring news later on. He slipped out of bed reluctantly onto the rough wooden floor and padded to the water closet to relieve himself, then looked into the small mirror, consciously examining his unruly hair and week's growth of beard. Meyers suggested they would need disguises, so despite going against his usual fastidiousness, he decided to leave his barbering mostly as it was, only shaping it into more kempt look as he trimmed his beard and mustache with the implements in the cabinet, combing his hair forward over his forehead to see how it changed his looks and was satisfied with the reflection. He hardly looked like himself. However, there was no reason to stay unclean, so working quietly so as not to wake her, William filled the small bath and got as much of the weeks' worth of grime off him as he could and started to feel more like himself. He found the new undergarments and clean clothes Julia had purchased for him and got dressed.

William patted his vest in frustration— _no watch!_ He had no idea what the time was since the secret room was both sound proof and built to hide any light, but judging by his stomach it was well past supper time in the evening, and Meyers had not returned. Hunger clawed him sharply—the last thing he had to eat was an apple he stole from a green grocer. A small alcohol flame was all there was to heat water, so he made some tea and dug into bread and sharp cheese retrieved from the crate of provisions, carving slices with a pocket knife. His eyebrows arched at several of the purchases, wondering if it was Julia or Meyers who found them to be necessary. The aroma of the tea combined with sawdust was pleasant

Across from him, Julia appeared to be dreaming, her body starting to move as she uttered a tight groan. As far as he was aware, she had not had any nightmares in months, but this looked like the start of one so he put his meal down and crawled into bed next to her, holding her lightly so that she'd know she was safe and he talked to her slowly and calmly just as he had done night after night while she recovered from her ordeal.

Her moans grew in intensity and she grabbed at her neck, sobbing now in her sleep. William hugged her tighter and shushed her…"Julia, it's all right, wake up."

 _"William!"_ She sat up abruptly, gasping with a wild feeling in her entire body. It took a while before she oriented and really _saw_ him, and felt his arms around her. "Thank God it's you! I was dreaming about…" her throat knotted, making it impossible to go on.

"I know, or at least I guessed." Since Eva, since the fire, even before….since the whole business with Roland, Julia had seemed more fragile to him, and he'd taken pains to be as gentle, even deferential as he could be with her. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten or push her too far. He pulled her up to lay against him. What happened with Franklin Williams was the likely origins for her terror. "You are safe now," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

She buried her face in his shoulder, wiping her tears away in the process. "I could not breathe…" Her voice was muffled…choking…

"Tell me what happened, the whole story," he prompted softly. Choking was a sensation she'd had ever since she'd almost been hung. He knew she'd made great progress in ridding herself of that terrible memory but there were times when her body gave her the recollection again anyway. She had coached him before that talking about it took the power away from the hold the past can have.

"Three masked men took me from our suite and I think they chloroformed me. I woke up locked in a coat room. When they took me out to transport me to an 'alternate location,' I punched one—turned out it was Councilor Williams…"

"Who you then stabbed in the eye with a weapon you made?" William prompted when she stalled.

She nodded. "I fashioned part of a coat hanger into a point." Julia started to feel better remembering how she fought back. "I did not understand why Mr. Grier let me go, but I suppose being employed by Meyers explains that." Julia was still upset about the risk to her life—and saw that William was as well. _I wondered what Mr. Grier would have done in order to protect his 'cover' —would it have included letting me die?_ Instead, she mentioned, "By the way, Mr. Grier said that Franklin Williams killed the labour organizer Edward Dobbs."

William's anger flared. "Yes, I know. That is what Miss Hall witnessed, as well that Mr. Graham ordered him to do so. I wanted her to testify to what she saw and she wanted to run away, fearing for her life… it seems with good reason."

Hearing an odd knock at the door, their conversation abruptly stopped. William waited until that same knock was repeated, and he then opened the door to reveal Meyers, dressed in his farmer's clothing, keeping up the pretense.

"Detective, Doctor. Might you join us in the main house for dinner? We have much to discuss, and I imagine it's been a while since you enjoyed a hot meal," Meyers proposed, trying to look past the detective's body which was blocking his view of the room. "I'm assuming beef stew will be suitable?" he asked with a wink at Julia still covered up in bed, and obviously wearing nothing but a sheet.

Offended at Meyers' inappropriate intrusion and forward behavior, he squeezed the door shut in the man's face, saying that they would be down shortly. He grumbled under his breath about the spy's boorishness but Julia distracted him with a kiss then stepped out of bed to dress.

She caught his eyes roving her body appreciatively, and he wagged his eyebrows at her and she giggled, delighting in his reaction. _Perhaps there's hope yet for a more passionate reunion_ , she mused. Julia redressed in male attire, but did not bother binding her breasts this time

Waiting on the ground floor, Meyers escorted them into the small cottage and he'd been right, an aroma of a hearty beef stew and a basket of freshly baked bread was indeed a welcoming sight for sore eyes, setting William's stomach to growling. Thankfully, no conversation was required as they hungrily ate their meal largely in silence. After dinner, Meyers offered Julia a brandy, which she happily accepted, the liquid burning over her still raw throat.

"It's a damn shame that a woman who enjoys a fine cigar and drink is lost on you, Murdoch. No typical _hausfrau._ You could stand to learn a thing or two from her," Meyers commented, winking again at Julia.

Not rising to the bait, William merely rolled his eyes and answered tightly in the affirmative, something about always befitting from his wife's expertise and wisdom.

Julia laughed in response to these two men squaring off with each other and took a drink from her glass. _As long as Meyers is charming in this way I can stomach him,_ she thought.

Meyers leaned in. "I'd recruit her to the Dominion Service if she could be persuaded. I swear she'd easily replace three of my _male_ operatives, considering it takes three men to handle a firebrand such as herself. She'd never be bored, that's for sure. And she can certainly pull off the under-cover aspects of the job…"

Julia was feeling a frisson of thrill at Meyers' pushiness this evening, a bit like when James Pendrick swept her up in a stolen kiss-superimposed on a thread of disquiet. She had been aware that when he pulled out her chair to seat her at the table, it also gave Meyers the opportunity to view her trouser-covered backside and wondered at the time if he was deliberately trying to provoke with her husband. Now he was clearly doing so. She slid her eyes towards William, seeing him getting a little impatient.

Annoyed at the liberties the spy seemed to be taking with his wife, William snapped at the man. "Enough, parlor talk Meyers. What's the plan?" he asked, sipping his tea.

Meyers reached into his pocket and brought out bit of paper wrapped around a small object. "This is from Detective Watts."

William accepted it, but did not unwrap it. "What does it say?"

He got a bold smile in return. "Why, detective, you wound me! You are accusing me of reading other people's mail." When William continued to stare, he merely shrugged and took another long drag on his cigar. "It is a chess piece, a bishop, and a notation about a chess move involving the queen, and an address. All very cryptic. Seems like there is at least one person trying to rally around you after all even if the names you gave me did not pan out. Furthermore, Detective Watts said nothing useful at all, just gave it to me, assuming I'd bring it to you with a comment about the wisdom of ignorance or some such drivel. He _is_ a strange fellow, don't you think, Doctor? More serious than even you, detective." Meyers' eye glittered. "What does it mean?"

William only put the item in his pocket, saying nothing.

"Gentlemen." Julia intervened in the staring contest. "How are we to get to the bottom of all this, and how does any of it affect national security?" She thought she'd say it before either of the men could.

"Excellent question, Doctor," Meyers lavishly praised her, giving her a slight bow and a superior look towards William. "First, we know Franklin Williams is Robert Graham's creature and Williams is implicated in the killing of that labour organizer, Dobbs, and is likely responsible for the dancer's death as well…" Meyers began.

"Her name was Lydia Hall. She had a name," Julia cut in. Her amusement over male posturing rapidly dissipated.

"Yes, of course she did. But as I was saying what we really need is concrete evidence of a grand conspiracy to place Mr. Graham as the front man for American hegemony - the thin edge of the wedge buying up valuable Canadian property to advantage our greedy neighbors to the south." Meyers sprawled in his chair, taking center stage. "Not to mention importing American organized crime to Canadian soil. The threat to Canadian integrity is very real. You have to uproot Graham to get to the bottom of it. You might be able to retrieve some evidence of Graham's complicity in Dobbs' death from the men's club where Dobbs died. My operative, Mr. Grier was able to set up recording devices, but was never able to recover them—you might find something useful."

"Would that be admissible in a court of law?" Julia asked.

"It may not matter—We have used recordings to get confessions before—for instance Alderman Hidell's assassination five years ago." William answered thoughtfully. "They would be a powerful tool for leverage, depending on what was captured on the cylinder."

 _Focused again on the case,_ Julia noted.

"My superiors in Ottawa will not allow me to help any further than I have already. I will be travelling with my prisoner, who is the man standing in for you, Murdoch, and delivering him to a Dominion jail on vague charges. We hope that anyone who wants you dead will take the bait, or at least draw attention away from Toronto so you can investigate in relative peace. But you do not have much time. I suggest you get going at first light. Here, take this envelope of money and identification papers, and I will leave the wagon and a horse for you to use as transportation. We are near…"

"We are in the Rouge Valley, outside of Markham," William piped up. "I recognized the geography, from our first encounter ten years ago here where you were pretending to be in land development. There were a lot of maps to study that time…" While the meal was satisfying, and he was grateful for the help Meyers was giving, William was getting more anxious to talk things over in private with Julia as well as get her away from Meyers, who seemed a little too interested in her. He saw that she smiled at him when he guessed their location. "I agree we do not have much time. How will we contact you?" he asked Meyers.

William received a card in return with his answer. "This is a private, secure number. Get the goods on Mr. Graham and his conspiracy. Call me and I can be back immediately in Toronto, on a special train if necessary." With that. Meyers stood, bowed deeply over Julia's hand and exited.

* * *

After William and Julia were once again back in their hidden room, conversation naturally and immediately turned to the many details they had encountered this past week. Being reminded of Miss Hall and Meyer's remark about people 'rallying to help' the two of them, worked on her nerves. _William rose to the occasion, always when it came to his work, so what was lacking in our marriage?_

"Did you know that Chief Constable Davis tried to convince me that you had an affair with Miss Hall? Even when I defended you, insisted that you would never do such a thing, he told me that very few women knew what their husbands played at in their absence," Julia's skin crawled hearing the insinuations in her mind. "At first he tried to be sympathetic, but his disingenuousness only made me angrier and more resolute. Then, once I got home and I saw our messy bed, I got angry. All I could think of was that you were missing, poor Miss Hall was dead, and that the two of you had been alone in our suite," Julia stated as she sorted through their meager belongings and took out night clothes for both of them. _Why am I so sure William has been faithful? His religion? His morals? His recent lack of passion with me? Did that mean he was more or less likely to stray?_ Julia's thoughts tumbled in her mind.

William merely nodded. He knew she wasn't yet done.

"Of course that's why she was in our rooms, you were trying to protect her; Miss Bloom explained you were trying to help her friend." _William was always rescuing damsels in distress—except sometimes that did not work out so well…._ She looked at her husband's strained face. _He knows it._

William's guts clenched, the shame washing over him. "And I failed. I failed to protect you as well." He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, pleading for understanding with his eyes.

Julia knew her husband was in moral and personal pain, which made it so hard to fathom his decision to cooperate with Meyers. The worry and fear she'd endured while he was missing hadn't evaporated when she was reunited with him, it was now turning into anger, which wasn't at all rational. William needed her help and encouragement right now, but she wasn't in the mood for giving it. At least not at this time. Her distaste for Terrence Meyers reasserted itself…and fears for whomever might risk themselves to help—even that poor man who was travelling with Meyers as bait.

She stood and went to a cupboard, suddenly wanting another drink in the worst way and got even angrier at herself for not acquiring any on her shopping trip.

Fists clenched at her sides, she turned and faced him, her voice tightening with pain. "William. After what just happened, after knowing about George and Henry….Gus Jackson…Knowing that Meyers' man left me to my own fate with Franklin Williams…." Her voice squeaked and her throat burned. She drew a glass of water and drank. "Helping you puts people in danger, William. You sent Inspector Brackenreid to find me. He did, you know, and almost got killed! It was a close thing, too close. If Margaret had not been there, I would have had to be the one to find his dead body—all because he was trying to help you! How could you ever give Meyers the names of people we know—the names of people who trust us! You _cannot_ trust him!"

William's feeling of guilt about Lydia's death, his men, Julia, the inspector's tribulations was cutting. "I saved Meyers' life, got him reinstated with Dominion Police and into Prime Minister Laurier's good graces….This time he is on our side. For once I do trust him, Julia!"

"You are a fool then! A fool who can't keep himself from drawing people who are around you into desperate situations." Julia's pulse was pounding in her head. "You could not leave it alone and look at what has happened." Her anger was building pressure, anything to push away the icy fear in her gut. "You went missing, William! With no word to me! A young woman in our bed, dead. I thought you were dead as well…"

William's rage at himself overflowed. "Yes, yes. I did all that. I am so sorry, so sorry…"

Julia laughed bitterly, her voice burring. "You're sorry…are you sorry that even after Constance Gardner, even after your childhood priest told you that justice is not always served by the truth, even after Inspector Brackenreid has told you countless times to be careful…You still charged forward and sought the truth when you were warned! When will you learn William? You may live your life in a moral manner above reproach, but you of all people should know that some people have their secrets that they will kill to make them stay that way!"

William listened to Julia's tirade with an iceberg in his stomach, accepting it all. He could not deny her point of view or the reality of her concerns. He quietly and earnestly told her so, hoping she understood his grief and distress without defending himself from the charges. Eventually Julia admitted she was exhausted, afraid and still a bundle of nerves—but neither did she back down.

Things tried to settle between them when the focus turned to getting ready for their journey back to Toronto and the enormous task facing them. Julia started by asking what Detective Watts' message had been, unable to leave the dig alone. "For all you say you trust Meyers, you did not tell him what it means."

William let the needling pass, confident in his guess. "I'd say the message is from Percival Giles."

"What can he do?" Julia was surprised at the mention of the former Chief Constable.

William brought the chess piece out of his pocket and read the message, pleased his surmise was correct. "He reminds me that in chess, the queen is the most powerful piece and that when paired with the bishop is even more powerful." He smiled at Giles' characterization of him and his wife, wondering if Julia got the implication. "Mr. Giles was recently released from jail and it seems he wants to help. I imagine he has information, possibly gleaned from his time in prison or when he was part of the constabulary."

"Is that so?' Julia questioned as she assessed the totality of their belongings. "We will need disguises that let us go wherever we need to follow the information. Mr. Meyers did not give us a lot of money, but I still have cash from Chief Constable Davis if we need things," Julia was considering what would give her the most latitude. "I think I should remain in male clothing. If nothing else it will be easier to fight or run away if I need to…."

They decided therefore to travel as father and son farmers, since Julia's hoarse throat could pass for an adolescent's boy's cracking voice and they'd be driving a wagon. It would explain their closeness or intimacy, choosing to stay in the same room and a lot of other details so as not to raise questions. William and Julia agreed on a plan, burying their disagreements over Meyers and coming to share the same anxieties about the risks to their friends and acquaintances.

Despite her misgivings, Julia was becoming excited about having an adventure with William. She'd never been deeply involved in one of his investigations in this manner before. She _had_ caught the earlier reference to "queen and bishop" being more powerful together—and agreed wholeheartedly. She and William _were_ a good team and accomplished many things better together—she was often never happier than when working with him. She wondered if that was part of what was missing from their relationship.

In the bathroom before retiring, Julia looked in the small wall mirror. Her hair, usually joyously wild was verging on a rat's nest. She had torn a brush through it before dinner and was not looking forward to shoving it up under a cap for days on end as she posed as a boy. She turned her head left and right, undid her braid and started brushing from the ends to detangle the masses of curls. After only a minute the strands in her brush were adding up alarmingly. She grimaced and let out a loud breath.

 _It's very late and William is already in bed, she told herself. But better now than later._ With that, she reached for the grooming implements in the cabinet and withdrew the scissors. _I wonder what he'll think of this?_


	7. Tuesday

**_Tuesday Morning..._**

Despite Meyers' advice to leave at first daylight, there was no alarm or clock in the room, so when William awoke, he hoped that it wasn't too late as he stretched and scattered the cobwebs from his mind. After murmuring a quick prayer of thanks, he also added one of petition for a safe and quick end to their mission. William sighed and looked around at the secret room.

 _The sooner this was done, the sooner we can return to our suite at the Windsor…if the Windsor would still have us that is…_

He was not pleased to be granted the reputation of suspected treason, even if it ultimately was a ruse to save his life. A small part of his mind considered whether or not Terence Meyers, for all he was being helpful, wasn't getting some perverse satisfaction with that at his, William's, expense. But there was a bigger, more immediate problem….

While his own whereabouts might therefore be explained to the powers that be and the public, even in such a humiliating way, Julia's absence was not. People in Toronto would still be wondering about her safety, so together, they decided she would write a letter to the _Toronto_ _Gazette_ , explaining she had never been kidnapped at all, but had gone into seclusion upon learning of her husband's arrest for treason and asking to be left alone at this most difficult time while she worked to prove his innocence. The letter was also going to ask the _Gazette_ to publish a retraction to Miss Cherry's erroneous, inflammatory story. William believed that would buy them a day or two at most, with Graham no doubt trying to verify her location.

 _Perhaps Graham will think that Chief Davis was the one who actually had Julia squirreled away somewhere, explaining why both of them dropped off the face of the earth,_ he thought. It was not the best of plans but it would have to do.

Turning to Julia to wake her, he stopped cold as he took in what he saw. There, lying on the pillow beside him, was not his sleeping wife with her mass of honey colored curls, but a youth with a closely shorn deep red crop. Shocked, he recoiled immediately, not unlike when he awoke to find Miss Hall dead next to him in bed.

 _Good Lord! A dead woman, and now a boy?_

William was alarmed. He sat up with his heart racing in reaction while simultaneously registering that it was Julia's head on the pillow. _What?_ Knowing it was her next to him and not some stranger helped…a little. He had no idea how to take this sudden development, as he'd always loved her hair, had loved the intimacy of him being the only one to see with her hair fully down… and now it was gone!

Instead of waking her, he got up and began to get ready, trying to get rid of his agitation and disappointment by reminding himself that it was, after all, _her_ hair. He even contemplated just leaving her and righting the situation on his own, but he knew that would only make her even angrier at him.

Sighing again, he went to the bathroom to perform his daily ablutions when he spied a jar of Henna dye and some scraps Julia's hair scattered on the floor. He picked up a long, golden curl, having the urge to take it as a keepsake. He did so, wrapping it up in a handkerchief and made a mental note to tuck it away in a safe place.

 _So this is what she was up to after I went to bed…_

Shaking his head, he went about getting ready for the day, thinking about the tension between them of late. Even before this whole mess had transpired, Julia had seemed ever so slightly put out with him, and he wasn't sure why.

Her anger at the events of the last week he could understand, but before that? He was at a loss. If they both survived this ordeal, they would have to talk about their current impasse.

But they'd never been very good at that kind of conversation, and he had never cared for conflict, least of all with her. Perhaps he would dress, and start to ready the cart for their journey on his own, assuming the noise and actions would wake her up.

 _Hopefully it isn't too late in the day to get started,_ he mused as he opened the sliding door and began the necessary preparations and praying that Julia wouldn't see straight through his avoidance.

It had been past first light, but thankfully not all that late - maybe six o'clock when they left the farm. William and Julia agreed it was just as well, since it would allow Meyers more time to arrive in Ottawa with the imposter 'William Murdoch' and establish him as being in Ottawa; their enemies would hopefully take the bait and stop looking for him in Toronto. With their meager belongings loaded into the wagon and several miles behind them, William was hopeful they wouldn't be recognized dressed as farmers going into the city to do business along with all the other rural traffic on the roadway.

Julia swayed on the hard wooden seat next to her husband, reminding herself to slouch and assume the posture of an adolescent boy. Knowing how much he loved her hair, Julia had been looking forward to seeing his reaction when he realized what she had done with it, but as that had happened while she was still asleep, it had been denied to her. Still though, she was willing to bet that he had made a point to be busy this morning so that he could avoid mentioning it.

 _Typical William, ignore it and it doesn't exist. But you can't possibly think that you can avoid this forever, do you? In fact, we're just driving in the country, no time like the present,_ she thought.

"So William, it seems my new hairstyle has gone unremarked upon. Surely it hasn't escaped your notice, has it? It is rather drastic, don't you think?" she asked. "Imagine going to the King's Club in this ensemble, it would certainly attract attention!"

Despite the hat covering his face, she saw him swallow and grimace before replying. "Julia, the last thing we need to do right now is make a spectacle. We've got to remember that we're father and son, traveling to the city. We do not need to create any additional scandal…I'm already in enough of one right now as it is," he admonished.

Rolling her eyes at his resolute obtuseness, she shook her head. "Yes, William. I haven't forgotten what we're supposed to do, but that doesn't mean that you can't comment upon a rather drastic change in my appearance," she pressed on. She found herself getting angry at him once again.

"It's your hair, Julia. You may do whatever you like with it," he tactfully replied.

"Yes, but I'm asking my _husband!_ I know that you've always loved my hair, and I've just cut it off. I'm assuming that you don't care for it, but just say it, what do you really think of my hair?" she pressed.

"I would think it perhaps better to ask Terrence Meyers. He seemed quite taken with you last night," he countered. Telling her of his frightful thoughts when he first saw her lying next to him was safely caught behind his teeth. _That was not something she needed to know._

Without a pause he reminded her of how important it was to keep their 'covers.' "You have to call me father and I have to call you 'son', or 'Gideon.' We are John and Gideon White, farmers from the Rouge Valley. If anyone checks, those are the names on the land office records for the farm we are supposedly from. Your hair is in fact an excellent choice of disguise," he admitted.

She knew he was deflecting again, and she was not surprised he was grumpy about Meyers, even if sending a dig her way was uncharacteristic. "I quite agree. No woman dares to sport short hair—so having it will give an instant masculine impression of me. It is amazing how unobservant the average person is, and the colour is close enough to your facial hair that very few will look beyond that and our story. The bonus is that it is so freeing to be rid of all that hair!" Julia exulted.

She heard a quiet snort from William and she knew that her comment had made its mark. Smiling in victory for a brief moment, she stared back out at the passing scenery and until a sobering thought crossed her mind: _Since when was antagonizing William enjoyable?_ Julia spent some time considering that….

Other than the occasional comment about the countryside the couple didn't say much to one another, lost in private thoughts. Slowly, as the miles collected, some of the tension between them softened without any words necessary, eventually allowing conversation to flow on safe topics such as what Julia learned at her medical conference in Chicago and the article William had most recently read. Later that afternoon, having finally made their way back into the city, Julia began thinking of more practical matters and asked about accommodations.

"I have an idea of where to stay, but do you have a say or a thought? Of course the Queen's Hotel, the King Edward, or even the Windsor are out, but something big enough to serve many guests and that is nice enough to attract clandestine lovers. A hotel that doesn't ask too many questions so long as you settle your bill in cash daily," William stated.

Giggling, Julia looked at William. "I suppose you do know such a place, Detective," Julia asked.

"I do, indeed," he replied with a wrinkle of his face. "The Prince Albert Hotel. Let's just say that I've had police business there a few times over the years and that they've never been particularly cooperative. A fact that I never thought I'd be grateful for," William added with laugh.

Laughing along with him, Julia shook her head. "I think that suggestion will be fine, William. But I think we need a room with a private bath unless you want me using the public washrooms, which should be quite interesting seeing as I am currently passing as a boy," she commented.

With a grimace, he nodded his head. "Point taken," he commented as he made the turn onto a side street off of Yonge. He headed for a stables to house the horse and wagon closer to where the docks and rail lines met, their cover story being that John White and his son Gideon were in Toronto to conduct some business and receive a piece of equipment for the farm which was getting delivered by ship.

"Father and son" walked several blocks from the stables to their destination after posting Julia's letter to the _Gazette,_ blending in well with the crowds who were jostling in the streets with 'Gideon' just behind his 'father' as they went, carrying their bags. Julia's disguise included a billed cap, round glasses and a neckerchief to cover up the bruises on her throat and hide the fact she had no Adam's apple. Instead of matching (or exceeding) William's height in her usual heels, hair piled on her head and crowned with a jaunty hat, in low shoes and a simple cap she only came to just above William's eyes. William sported a bowler hat and a half-bent Dublin pipe between his teeth. The overall effect was transformative—they looked nothing like the dashing husband and wife figures they typically cut in public.

William started feeling more comfortable with their disguises—no one looked twice at them, and if they did the only thing likely to be remembered was their red hair. Unlike the Windsor or other fine establishments, the Prince Albert Hotel was not a place where one went to be seen—rather it was for work-a-day travelers and the occasional assignation. The hotel also knew that its business was about _not_ getting into the affairs of others, so with a week's lodging paid in advance, the hotel quickly settled them in a room by a back stairway possessing what passed for a private bath.

The Prince Albert was clean enough as evidenced by the smell of wood polish and floor cleaner, and Julia agreed it was a perfect choice until she laid their bags on the room's double bed. The meager weight of the luggage created an immediate cry of protest from the springs. "Private bath" she discovered, was a bit of a misnomer, consisting of a water closet and washbasin shared between two rooms with only a locked door on either side separating the spaces. Wondering if this hotel had laundry service (somehow, she doubted it), Julia locked the door to the opposite room and laid out her one remaining clean shirt, then stripped to get washed, eager to get the dust of their journey off of her.

 _Some farmer's son I am_ , she thought to herself.

She had a female outfit bundled into her suitcase, just in case, but no robe. Thus as she walked about the room nude to grab a few personal items from her bag, generating another bed-squeak, she didn't notice at first how William was staring at her, so accustomed she was to walking about in such a manner around their suite.

It wasn't until she heard the choked sigh from William that she realized what a sight she must be: the naked body of a woman with the haircut of a boy.

Deciding to bait him ever so slightly, Julia wriggled her hips suggestively at him. "Are you interested in a bit of fun before I bathe, Father?" she teased.

William groaned and rolled his eyes, shushing her. "Julia, do not call me _'father'_ while you are standing in front of me without any clothing on," he pleaded. "My thoughts are anything but paternalistic right now, I assure you," he added.

"All right, William, I suppose calling you 'father' might ruin the mood, but whatever are you thinking, dear husband? Are you still angry about the hair? I really did think it was the best choice," she explained.

"No, I was not angry and, yes, as I mentioned before it was a good choice-brilliant actually," he answered. Exhaling sharply, he stood up and walked to her, deciding to be truthful. "It seems that I am quite conflicted. My beautiful, enchanting wife is passing herself off as a boy, and yet I am still very attracted to her, which is rather disconcerting, Julia. Pray tell, what does 'Dr. Ogden' make of that?" he asked with a deeply furrowed brow.

Julia had been enjoying the relaxed mood which developed between them and was wary of breaking it, so she thought hard before speaking. "I believe we once had a discussion years ago about Nature being full of omni-sexual behavior, animals behaving as nature intended, did we not?" She closed the remaining distance between them and gently took his lapels. "I know you _must_ recall, your remarkable memory being what it is. The exchange was one of the first heated disagreements we ever had." She smiled when he nodded and pulled her even closer. "I have no doubt you know it is _me_ , William, no matter what my hairstyle is. So tell me, how good is your 'resolve' at the moment, Detective?"

William found himself completely enthralled, his attention riveted to her teasing blue eyes. It was so intoxicating, it took him a while to realize she was waiting for an answer.

 _Does she ever really know how much I desire her?_ he wondered.

William covered each of her hands with his own and peeled them off his vest, planting a kiss on the underside of each wrist. "Julia," he whispered. "I think my resolve is less a problem than the thinness of the walls between each room. There is no way that our carefully crafted cover story and disguises will survive a physical encounter between us in this hotel. Unfortunately, I am afraid we must abstain for the duration." He said it with what he hoped was a winsome and apologetic turn of his mouth.

Julia paused while considering the water-closet doors and rather vocal bed-springs, then relented, suddenly feeling rather vulnerable and doing her best to suppress her disappointment. "I suppose you are right. We do have to get some food then get to work on retrieving those recordings from that male bastion. I will get washed and dressed so we can set about surveilling the place."

William was relieved to see Julia smile wryly and kiss him, apparently agreeing with the wisdom of not straining the credulity of their disguises. "Yes, I suppose you must," he murmured as he relinquished his hold on her hands. "We have the rest of the afternoon and evening to begin the preliminaries. I suggest we avoid restaurants and stick to street vendors for our meals, and our first stop needs to be getting each of us a time piece…."

While Julia freshened up after their journey, she couldn't help but think of what had just passed between them. _It seems that he does desire me, yet he doesn't act upon that urge. Why is that?_

* * *

They exited the hotel and soon found a cart selling the famed Coney Island Hot Dogs that George and Henry had often gone on about, the memory stinging William as he swallowed his down, such was his anxiety over their fate. The morning newspaper edition Julia bought did not include any updates on the shooting, and only a small mention of _'Detective William Murdoch who was removed to Ottawa for questioning, and the case against him for Lydia Hall's death is being changed to a new venue to be heard,'_ right below an article on the expansion of shipping and trade along the Great Lakes through the Welland Canal, speculating on the ability of Canada to surpass the Americans for transporting goods to the interior of the continent. As associated article extoled the virtues of the Niagara Peninsula for trans-shipment with its railroad connections.

William thought the article about him was probably Terrence Meyers' doing. He prayed that the constables were safe and receiving the medical care they required as he choked his food down. Julia it seemed, had no associations with the food item, and appeared to be relishing hers.

"I dare say, what if we were to throw a party and serve this to our guests? Whatever would they think to have this as their main course?" Julia giggled, finishing hers with gusto and then delicately licking Mr. French's cream salad mustard off her fingers.

" _Gideon!_ Mind yourself!" William said to alert her to the danger of behaving out of character. He lowered his voice further. "I should think that if we do have any friends after this fiasco, I doubt they'd be scandalized by our choice of food served," William commented dryly, forcing his mind back to the matter at hand.

"You're right, William, er.… _'Father'_ and it's a pity that I'll never have another opportunity to shock and scandalize such "polite society" again," she said with a sly smile.

Their meager meal finished, they agreed to head over to the Bacchus Club and watch the comings and goings of the members as well as see if there was a way to gain entrance. After watching the front for a while and having seen no one of interest enter the building, they moved around to the back entrance to see what kind of tradespeople came and went and determine any entrance from that angle.

While it was somewhat boring to merely sit there and watch a building, Julia found that her spirits were buoyed by the simple act of working with William. Is this what had gone wrong in their relationship? She tried to follow the thread of change between them over time. _He used to be at least as interested in me as he was in solving a crime or the evidence he collected and studied,_ she reasoned. She was used to how distracted he was on a case, when he was in pursuit of a clue or had a brainstorm, but this seemed different somehow. They had continued to work together after the wedding, so it couldn't be that, but she realized that they had stopped doing so as often after adopting Roland, and had not resumed doing more after his departure. _Did William no longer want to work with me nor find me as desirable anymore because he now views me as a mother and no longer his partner? Or does he view me as fragile after having been shot last year and my subsequent emotional lapse? A combination of both, perhaps?_

She mulled this over and added it to the ever-growing list of things they needed to discuss after this was all done. But this was not a topic for right now: William was firmly in detective mode, his mind mulling the proceedings and determining the best course of action. His mind was typically a very attractive part of him to her, and his intellect combined with his rugged and hyper-masculine persona at present, William was the epitome of the intelligent thug they had once discussed all those years ago. Taking this all in, she felt her body react with desire with him and ardently wished she weren't disguised as his son because she really wanted to experience this particular William in all his unguarded glory.

 _Oh William, you may think you're a peaceable type, and you may pass yourself off as a gentleman, but you're capable of anything if you're provoked. And oh, how I want to provoke you. I used to be able to make you forget yourself… What changed?_

Sighing in frustration, she moved away from him in the hope that increasing the physical distance would decrease her need for him. She also hoped that it would make her forget about the current fantasy playing in her head wherein William took her deep into the alley and showed her just how well they worked together, feeling his rough stubble scratch her skin as he thrust into her against the rough wall, her legs wrapped around his waist…

Of course, he was so engrossed in his surveillance, he didn't even notice her actions or her jagged sigh. After a few minutes, he leaned against a wall, and exhaled, clearly plotting what to do next.

"I think it might be best for us to split up and meet back at the hotel by eight o'clock," he stated. "Perhaps you can go to the Star Room and see if you can speak with Nina Bloom, see if she's learned anything, and if she might be willing to help us," he explained, glancing at his watch before slipping it back in his pocket. "If you hurry, you'll catch her before she begins her show," he added.

Smiling, Julia batted her eyelashes. "Oh, William…you remembered that I've always wanted to go - what an excellent idea. I suppose you'll be attending as a guest in the main room," she teased, hoping he'd take the bait.

But he didn't.

"No, I know where to find Mr. Giles, and I'm going to see how he might be of assistance. I have no doubt that he'll want to see legitimacy restored to the Constabulary, and if I don't miss my guess, he'll also hopefully be feeling vengeful towards Jeffrey Davis as well," he answered, oblivious to her frustrations.

"Very well, William. I will see you back in the room by eight p.m." she replied and quickly left.


	8. Tuesday Evening

Even though the Star Room was not yet open, Julia knew enough about Nina to tell the doorman that she was a friend of her brother Sam's and that she was visiting from out of town. Though he looked at her dubiously, he agreed to let her in, and she soon found Nina herself.

When Nina looked at her quizzically, Julia remembered that she was in disguise, took off her glasses and quickly remembered that since she was indoors, she needed to remove her hat.

 _My disguise must be better than I thought._

"Miss Bloom, Nina. It's me, Julia Ogden," she quietly whispered, not wanting her cover to be blown. The young woman looked at her strangely for a moment and then her eyes widened as she realized that the boy standing in front of her was Dr. Ogden herself.

"Dr. Ogden! But you're missing! What's going on?" she excitedly asked until Julia reminded her to lower her voice.

"I was. It's a long story and I promise I'll explain it all to you one day, but I escaped. The same people who killed Lydia were going to kill me as well, but thankfully, I was prepared. I've been in hiding the past couple of days so I don't know what's going on. Can you tell me anything about George or the other constables?" Julia immediately wondered.

Nina's eyes began tearing up, and she shook her head. "No, all I know is that George was apparently wounded and that one of them died, but I don't know which one. Even then, this is all rumor I've gleaned from patrons and the other dancers here."

Looking around to make sure that they were alone, Julia nodded her head in sympathy, She too would like to know the truth one way or another. Hopefully George was not the dead constable.

"Miss Bloom, I know I'm about to ask a lot, but, I need to…" Julia began, but Nina interrupted her.

"No need to ask, I want to help, and please do call me Nina. If George is still alive, I want to know. If he's dead…" she paused, clearly upset before continuing. "I want justice for him and Lydia. In fact, I've already volunteered to be the girl who jumps out of the cake later tonight at the Bacchus Club. I'm going to play naïve and dumb, but I'm going to listen, I'm going to spy, I'm going to get information; but I need to know who else I can trust," the young woman hurriedly explained.

"That is a very clever idea, but are you sure you want to go so far? These men are very dangerous." Julia was mindful of how risky all of this business was and if she tried to forget her throat reminded her, painfully.

Nina crossed her arms over her body. "Lydia was my friend, and George is….," she faltered briefly again for a moment. "George is a fine man, and I'd like to make him proud of _me_ , if I could."

Julia recalled Margaret Brackenreid's actions out of love for her husband, and made a calculated guess that Nina's motivation was not only justice. "Well, in addition to us three, I don't know anyone currently at the Constabulary who is trustworthy other than Detective Llewellyn Watts, or so William believes. However, Alderman William Peyton Hubbard is certainly beyond Mr. Graham's corruption in my estimation and probably the only one I can swear to right now," Julia offered. She got uncomfortable for a minute at the thought of roping more people into their plight, especially knowing how dangerous it all was. She had been irritated with William for sharing names with Meyers. _This is different, isn't it?_

She looked around at the dressing room, full of costumes and brightened, a wild idea forming.

"Nina, might I ask a small favor? I've had an inspiration…"

* * *

William trekked several blocks over to a brick tenement building off Terauley near Wellington. This area of Toronto was devastated by the fire and was coming back piecemeal. On the way, he moved through throngs of people and conveyances on the street and a stew of languages (and smells) in the air with no one paying him the slightest bit of attention. His week on the run included sleeping in a flop house and an occasional doorway along these streets, so he moved effortlessly towards his destination.

The building he sought was just outside the area of the fire's destruction. After walking up four flights of hot narrow dark stairs he knocked on a grimy door. He heard a shuffling sound and then the door opened, ushering him into a cramped room under a sloping roofline. One small window admitted weak light. The usual upright bearing of his host was the only thing in the room that reminded William of Percival Giles' former self—the rest was in shabby ruins, along with Giles' face and the gnarled hand he offered in greeting.

"Good evening detective. I see you received my message." Giles still spoke in precise, clipped words but the power behind them was diminished. "May I offer you some tea? I was about to take my supper."

William hid his astonishment. "Yes sir, thank you sir," not daring to ask what had transpired since he'd last seen Giles, he took a seat at a small table while the man poured some hot liquid into a clean cup. On the table was bread and jam, which William declined, knowing it was the likely the only food the ex-officer had to eat today.

Giles began without preamble. "The wages of sin, detective," gesturing to his surroundings and including himself without a trace of self-pity. "Jeffrey Davis was a corrupt policeman, who was very clever in hiding his malfeasance, but not always clever enough. My predecessor turned a blind eye, perhaps, but when I was Chief Constable, I was on to him and was prepared to clean house of him but I never got the opportunity as my own career unraveled." He also said this without any inflection, merely sipped his tea. "My credibility, of course, was shattered when I was convicted. No one was inclined to listen to what I had discovered about him and Station House No. 5. Davis quickly took the opportunity to clean up behind himself- even if I could have persuaded someone to go after him, the proof I had against him was gone. I was quite pleased when you and Inspector Brackenreid took him down with new evidence. To find him again installed as Chief Constable goes against everything I have ever believed in." Giles offered a crooked smile. "And to accuse you of murder—well, it has been done before," he joked.

William nodded. "Then you might be pleased to know that Davis is out of circulation at the moment…I cannot give you the details as it would endanger you."

"Danger?" Giles barked a laugh. "Duty. Honour. Loyalty. That is what I care about, detective." He leaned forward over the tiny table's surface. "I assume that Mr. Graham was the one who resurrected Davis and got him appointed back to Chief Constable." Giles took a bit of bread. "You will need to take Davis down to disprove the charges against you."

"Your instincts are on target, sir. For now Davis is out of the picture, and as eager as I am to clear my name, the real enemy is Robert Graham. I am told Mr. Graham holds the secrets of most of the elite in the city. Do you have any information that could be helpful?"

Giles smiled grimly. "Davis was always a bully, forever exploiting weaknesses in others. Mr. Graham is not the only one who enjoys wielding leverage. Davis kept files on his enemies, and even more information on his friends. I assume Davis helped Graham with the permits for his Melinda Street project— and that money was exchanged in the process. Therefore, Davis has information on Graham as well as his own insurance policy, as it were. Follow the money trail, get Davis' files and you have Graham."

William waited. Giles hardly called him all the way over here to state the obvious.

"Jeffrey Davis never could resist keeping the keys to his secrets close to him, so he could gloat about the power he held in his hands." Giles's eyes actually twinkled. "And that is not a metaphor. I don't imagine he has changed his ways over the years, becoming complacent and ever more arrogant. Where ever he is, find him and get his actual set of keys and find what they unlock. Everything you need will be there."

* * *

Percival Giles's insights about Jeffrey Davis were helpful as well as disturbing. William had no idea that corruption had taken such deep roots into the constabulary but the speed with which he built a case against him for Miss Hall's murder and dismantled Station House No. 4 should have been proof enough. Hoping that Davis was still insensible in some isolated room in the bowels of the asylum and still in possession of his keys was tantalizing—the proof that might turn everything back to rights so close and yet so far.

William spent about an hour with Giles and another forty minutes walking back to the Prince Albert with it coming on full dark in the city as he moved up the final block, chewing vigorously on the pipe he was not used to having between his teeth. He purchased a loaf of bread and some fruit for their dinner from a grocer who was closing up shop, and he was looking forward to seeing Julia to formulate a plan for getting those keys.

William let himself into their hotel expecting Julia to already be there since the Star Room was nearby. The room was empty and William tried to tamp down his worry that something had gone wrong. By eight fifteen he'd asked at the desk again for any messages, the clerk making some comment about a young man alone in the big city getting lost.

By eight-thirty William's anxiety was such that he was about to head over to the Star Room himself, when the door opened and a voice rushed an apology. "I am so sorry I am late, father. I lost track of the time…" Letting the passerby in the hallway see the tableau of a disgruntled patriarch glowering at his wayward son.

Closing the door behind her, Julia rushed to kiss her husband. "Oh, the look on your face! It is priceless. I really _am_ sorry, William," she whispered, quickly kissing his brow as he pulled her to him in relief. "Do you have any word on George and the other men?"

William shook his head. "No. I hope to know more tomorrow. And your letter did not make the late edition of the paper—I checked. Tomorrow perhaps. The good news is that we might have a way to put pressure on Mr. Graham." He explained what Giles had told him. "What happened to Davis' effects when you took him to the hospital? Perhaps we can retrieve them tonight."

"We took everything out of his pockets, and I left it all in a locker. It can wait." She smiled at his consternation. "We have something better to do. I have a way into the Bacchus Club and we have to hurry."

When she told him her and Nina's plan, he erupted. "No! Absolutely not."

"Shhh! It's perfect. We get into the club in the most natural way – by being invited, and have a reason to be in the various rooms. I'm a bit old to be jumping out of cakes myself, so Miss Bloom will do that. But perhaps not too old to act as a hostess and distract the men while trying to glean some information myself." Julia tried her most persuasive smile. "Miss Bloom will help me with a wig, a change of clothes, and perhaps some cosmetics. You can be the delivery man with the cake," she added, "so between the three of us, we can get the recording devices and gather even more evidence."

"Julia! I cannot allow it, and you should not have encouraged Miss Bloom either," he hissed, scared of the idea and furious with her for considering it. "It is too dangerous."

Julia's eyes blazed and she shook herself out of his grasp. "William! **_You_** are the one who put me in danger in the first place," her anger flared and she spit that out without thinking. _Oh, god._ _Too late to take it back,_ she realized when he recoiled as if she slapped him. "Do you have a better way?" she challenged. "Mr. Graham, Franklin Williams, Chief Davis…they may not believe the average person's life is worth much—they treat people so callously and casually. But you don't, William. You thought Mr. Dobbs death deserved an answer. You tried to help Lydia Hall. Miss Bloom is doing this with us or without us…do you want to let her down?" she snapped. She saw that rocked him.

"No. Of course not…." William felt battered and groaned inwardly.

"It will be all right. You will be there to protect us and collect the recordings while we serve as a distraction. We'll have a poke around and leave before anyone is the wiser. Together, William. We make a very good team- you know this. But we have to hurry. The party has already started and the _pièce de résistance_ is scheduled for ten o'clock sharp. The wagon will pick us up in forty-five minutes."


	9. Tuesday Night or A Scandalous Soiree

Hustling the 'cake' into the building through the Club's service entrance immediately produced one bit of information: in Julia's estimation the wooden crates stacked in the kitchen were a near perfect fit for the dimensions of some of the scrapes on Dobbs' back. The working theory therefore was that was how Dobbs' body was taken from the Bacchus to the docks and thence to the lake.

At approximately 10:15 pm, William found himself tucked away in the corner of a large room as a few of the sons of the most wealthy and powerful in Toronto unwound. Since he was here simply as an employee of the Star Room and most decidedly not of the female persuasion, William admitted that Julia had been right that no one was going to pay much attention to him, and after watching Miss Bloom jump from the cake, the evening was in full swing. The theme for the evening was an "English Hunt" because the birthday party was in honour of a young man who was about to be launched into Society across the pond on a European tour beginning with Mother England. The 'cake' was decorated with hunt scenes and Miss Bloom was decked out in a costume suggesting a red fox, complete with "tail" and a mask with "ears" topped by a bright red wig.

Miss Bloom was a beautiful young woman, and her voluptuous curves most plwasing to gaze upon - quite unlike Julia's slender body. Yet after admiring Miss Bloom's shapely form for a few moments, William found his gaze had gravitated, as always, to Julia, and he could not take his eyes off of her every move. Though she looked decidedly different from her usual self, he found himself attracted to his wife in her latest guise, confidently working the room and making idle chit chat as though this were her regular occupation. He was particularly glad that she was, for all intents and purposes unrecognizable, therefore decreasing the chances that she would be identified by an old acquaintance of her family or even Darcy's - both of whom had the potential to be here tonight.

With elaborately coiffed red hair, Julia was a striking vision in a borrowed corset strategically padded to make her appear more endowed than she really was, brightly painted lips below her own plain black mask and her throat adorned with sparking paste jewels that glittered in the light and helped, (along with a liberal application of makeup) obscure her bruises. Her black silk dress sported a neckline plunged scandalously low and hem rising provocatively high to just above her knees, showcasing her long, shapely, legs which he adored, particularly when they were wrapped tight around his waist. He began to fantasize about taking her behind one of the crates in the service area and having his way with her. _I absolutely love her legs…_

Realizing that his mind had most decidedly wandered from the task at hand, he cleared his throat, and made it a point to stare at the guests, wondering if there might be anyone he recognized among them. Adjusting "Gideon's" borrowed glasses, and hoping that the thick round frames would obfuscate his eyes, he didn't know whether or not he was relieved or disappointed. Even with their excellent disguises, William was nervous. He would be glad to retrieve the recordings, and leave with both Nina and Julia in one piece and as soon as possible. He just prayed that Robert Graham would not be here this evening; he wasn't sure he could maintain his composure if he were to see the man.

Glancing back over at Julia, William assured himself that all was relatively well, and that the general handiness of the men was nothing Julia nor Miss Bloom couldn't handle for a few minutes. He decided that it was time to retrieve the recording which Meyers claimed would be here, hoping no one had discovered it; having heard from Percival Giles how effectively Davis tidied up after himself, it was a wonder if the recording went undisturbed.

All eyes were on Miss Bloom; he doubted anyone would see him leave. Stepping outside the room, he closed the pocket doors behind him and tried to imagine the scene as Lydia Hall had described to him.

Immediately, he saw a large closet to the right of him and walked to it, wondering if he could find some sort of evidence. Stepping inside, he took out his electric torch and looked around, wishing he had the items necessary to check for the presence of body fluids. As it was, he spotted a few dark drops that might possibly be the blood of Edward Dobbs and marks on the floor which could be from four chair legs; the damage to the wood finish was grim testimony to Mr. Dobbs' struggle to live. There was a smell of urine as well coming from the floor boards, it being not uncommon for the bladder to let go in death.

 _This is definitely the crime scene._ He made a mental note to ask Watts to come by and see if there was a way to gather evidence from the closet and take pictures of the marks when he came to pick up a crate as an exemplar.

William found the ventilation shaft that Meyers had described on the wall, about seven feet high on the wall. The only way up was a lone wooden chair. William suppressed a shudder. _This was likely the chair Dobbs was in when he met his end._ He examined it carefully, noting scratches in the arms from where Dobbs' wrists were bound to them. _Another piece of evidence,_ he added to his mental list. He moved the chair, careful not to leave fingermarks, stepped up and pushed on the grate, quickly pulling himself into the small enclosed space. According to Meyers, the recording device was somewhere nearby, and blessedly, he quickly found it! The Edison machine was bolted rather firmly to the wall, and William was unable to free it up, certainly not without either damaging it or causing so much noise that he'd give away his presence. Sighing, he prayed again that the cylinder would contain the information he needed.

Placing the cylinder into his satchel, William heard the music and gaiety of the party, realizing he had the perfect opportunity to observe the actions of the party guests completely anonymously. He quickly crawled over to the grate that looked out onto the other room, taking the entire scene in for himself.

 _Miss Bloom is doing a great job staying the center of attention_ , William noticed. _She was not ever going to have gotten any evidence that way, surrounded as she is by all those men shamelessly pawing at her._

It made him appreciate Julia's insistence in coming here tonight, despite the risks. She was circulating with the champagne, keeping glasses full and casually asking the attendees if this was their first "cake" party, trying to ascertain who else might have been in attendance the night of Dobbs' death while fending off physical advances. He overheard her snag one comment already from a young man who explained it was the birthday boy's own father who came up with the idea after going to just this sort of party a week ago in this very room.

 _She is a marvel…_ he thought, and he was proud of the information and name she got already. Watching her move he imagined he was among the guests and receiving her attentions, her long legs scissoring in and out of her high-cut dress and a sparkle in her face. _And Julia does love her experiences,_ he grinned to himself, imagining his hands travelling up those very legs along the open front of her skirt. For a moment he imagined that he was one of the guests, a man daring to be so bold as to take a few liberties with her in a room full of others. He certainly liked his experiences as well, and the fantasy of engaging in such public behavior with her was exciting in a multitude of ways.

But it had been such a long while since he'd dared to loose the reins on his passions, considering the past year had been so difficult for Julia and he hadn't wanted to push her any further than she was ready to go. But seeing her move about the men so effortlessly and in high-spirits, he wondered if that time hadn't come, forgetting for a moment that he was stuffed in an airshaft and they were in mortal danger being hunted by a ruthless enemy (or two).

But, he quickly caught his train of thought and redirected his attentions to the party as he overheard the next exchange.

 _"You are quite beautiful,"_ the young man remarked boldly. He was perhaps twenty one, tall with smooth light brown hair and was the one who told Julia about the birthday boy's father. He was drinking but did not appear intoxicated, unlike most of the rest of the guests. _"Our Mistress Fox is quite a looker,"_ he said, _"but you are more my type. I like older women…you are perhaps, what, thirty?"_ He asked this quite rudely, William thought, but heard Julia giggle as if flattered. Prickles of irritation began in William's stomach. The man's voice continued. _"I am going to Europe, for the experiences of art and for the literature. Unlike Cadwallader there, I have no plans on returning to this dreadful town after my tour. I have a taste for the finer things, and I possess excellent judgement of other people's characters."_

"Do you now?"

Julia asked in a teasing voice. _"What do you think of Mr. Cadwallader and his father?"_

 _"_ _That they are both bores, and both cheat!"_ He laughed conspiratorially. _"You, on the other hand are never boring, but I'd say that you are bored in your current life, which is why you are here."_

William could see him move closer to Julia, already too forward and familiar for William's liking. He had to remind himself that this was one of the things they expected to have happen. Julia, he saw to his discomfort, did not move away.

 _"Oh?"_ Julia asked, her painted lips forming a perfect 'O' in surprise. _"What makes you think that?"_ she asked flirtatiously.

 _"I have been to a few of these type of soirees before – nothing too vulgar. There is always one interesting woman—beautiful, elegant, intelligent, amusing….and bored at home with her husband, come looking for a little thrill."_

 _"That is quite presumptuous of you,"_ Julia answered. _"You can hardly say you know me…" she teasingly replied, stepping closer to the youth and fingering his shirt collar._

 _"I'd say that describes you perfectly," he interrupted. "There's no point in denying that you are married, you may not wear any rings, but I can still see where they have left their mark," he murmured, tracing the indention where her wedding rings had been until last night. "Or perhaps it feels as if your husband is bored with you…?" the young man asked, placing his hands around her waist and pulling her into him._

William was beside himself—appalled at what he was eavesdropping over and eager to leave, whilst being just as transfixed by wanting to know Julia's answer. When he got it he nearly gave himself away by banging his head on the top of the small space.

 _"Well, young man, perhaps you are right on both counts….," she replied as he took her mouth with his, clearly trying to kiss her with his tongue._

Hoping she would reprimand the boy, scolding him for his forwardness, William was dismayed that she did the opposite, apparently enjoying the boy's attentions.

In fact, she didn't even flinch when the boy slipped his hand up her short skirt. Julia admonished him for taking such liberties with her, but she didn't seem that upset about it either.

William was both hurt and angry at the same time, when his evening took another immediate turn for the worse. All of a sudden, the door opened and in walked none other than Robert Graham.

Despite his roiling emotions, William fought back his instinct to immediately flee, stopping only to grab Julia and Nina. Instead he cautioned himself to remain calm, straining to see and hear what the man was up to.

Forcing himself to think and use his logic and police training, William soon noticed that Graham was not removing his coat, which hopefully meant that the man wasn't staying long. In fact, Graham called over two of the party's guests and motioned them to accompany him outside.

Taking advantage of the raucous noise coming from the party, William pushed himself backwards in the ventilation shaft, so that he could overhear the conversation in the hall. Soon joining Graham outside were two older men, one of them the father of the forward youth acquainting himself with Julia.

William got as close as he could, but he strained to make out their conversation.

"…have to wait. We can't go forward right now. Too much attention looking at us," Graham defended himself.

"…you said the meddlesome people were taken care of, bought off," one of the men countered.

"It's just for a week or two at the most. It's not permanent. Ever since Franklin Williams' untimely death, there's too much attention on the project and my connection to Williams. I believe Chief Davis is taking care of the rest. We need to wait," Graham reassured them.

"This is not going to make our investors happy," one of the men replied.

"It's just temporary. I can't go forward right now. Just give me a few weeks, and we proceed," Graham promised.

After the exchange of a few more heated words uttered in low voices, the men dispersed, with two returning to the party and Graham quickly departing rapidly.

William turned the information over in his head.

 _Interesting that the other men mentioned nothing about murder…they think people have been bought off, not killed off…and Franklin Williams is now dead as well?_

He knew he had to get to Davis' "keys" or notes as soon as possible and hopefully exert pressure on the Chief Constable. Now he had to find out how Williams met his end. _Was it as the result of his wound from Julia, or was it by someone elses's hand?_


	10. Late Tuesday: Hurt and Anger

William kept his face as neutral as possible when he slipped back to the party, recording cylinders tucked safely in a canvas bag. His clothing was dusted off and all was back in order in the other room so he gave Miss Bloom and his wife the signal to wrap up their 'performance.'

Julia, for her part, continued to flirt with the guests, overtly catching William's eye in the process as if it were great fun. _Lord knows why,_ chattered sourly in his head.

He realized that their extrication had to move quickly _and_ at the same time seem natural, so it took all his patience to wait it out. Miss Bloom threw her final kisses and bowed, receiving some appreciative applause, allowing William to wheel the remains of the 'cake' out of the room and herd both ladies to the street and into the waiting carriage, never so grateful to hear a door slam behind him. Miss Bloom and Julia were exuberantly talking about their adventure in the carriage box, sharing a laugh. William took the reins and nearly shouted in exasperation when Julia suddenly ordered him to stop.

"We have to go, NOW!" he grumbled, none too gently.

"Stop! I need a sample of that road tar. Here, take this." She handed him a spoon she'd cadged from the club. "I saw it when we came in. I think I can connect it to Mr. Dobbs' body."

"No," he said as he drove the horse forward without waiting for her response. "Julia, be sensible. Any evidence about Mr. Dobbs' death must be properly collected by the actual constabulary, not us. We cannot be seen to be "investigating" anything. I hope to get Detective Watts to do that tomorrow, God willing. Right now we have to get Miss Bloom safely away and listen to the recordings."

Though William would have liked for Nina to have stayed at a hotel that night for her safety, Nina insisted that that she would be fine; the only reason Lydia had ended up dead is because she had seen a murder. However, she allowed William to sweep her room to allay his concerns as well as give Julia a chance to change back into her male disguise.

Having inspected doors, windows, and locks, William was as reassured as he could be that Miss Bloom would be safe. Promising to keep Nina informed if they heard anything about George, and thanking her again for being the distraction to allow William and Julia to work and gather intelligence at the party.

"Julia, I know it's late, but I really would like to get my hands on Davis' possessions at the asylum. According to Giles, there could be some very valuable information and evidence in his notes," William stated, hoping his tone demonstrated that this was more than a request. Sticking to the investigation was the only thing he could think of doing at the moment, certainly not discussing her actions nor talking about his feelings. That would undo him if he gave into it, he was sure, so he needed time to settle his thoughts.

"I thought you might, and yes, it's actually for the best. There are very few staff at night and we can sneak in the same way I did a couple nights previous," she agreed, sensing something had set him ill at ease at the club.

Coming in through the asylum basement before making their way to a long neglected and forgotten ward, William forgot that he was angry with Julia and began to, if not exactly enjoy the skullduggery and skulking through the building, at least relax in his wife's company. Even more so as Julia assured him that the night watch only prowled the halls at two hour intervals and his most recent was at midnight, and it was now 12:45. If they were quiet and quick, Julia assured him they wouldn't be caught.

As they found their way into the staff room, Julia went straight to a particular locker and removed a large bundle of clothes and such – presumably Jeffrey Davis' effects, clothes and other items and stuffed them into a bag.

"We can go through everything back in our room," Julia explained before she stopped and thought of something else. "I don't suppose you've thought of a way to listen to the cylinder, have you?" she wondered.

"Do you know of a machine here?" William asked.

"I do. There should be one in the Director's office," she answered, clearly thinking of how she was going to get it.

"Far too risky I think," he said. "We have to make sure we are never discovered. That device going missing might raise a red flag."

"Just as well, then. I want to check in on Davis while we're here. He's just around the corner," she added as she brought out her set of keys from her pocket and cracked open a door to make sure the coast was clear before darting down the hall with him, pulling him by the hand.

William recognized the place as the women's ward where his wife had been assaulted, the painful memory coming back to him, but she did not seem to give it a second thought.

Julia unlocked the ward's outer door and slipped in wordlessly, then went to one of the individual cells and opened that was well. "I want to check Davis' vitals as well as his wound," Julia explained. "It will not do to lose him to an infection before he can tell us what you need him to."

With her brief examination complete, and nodding at him with a smile, Julia stood. "He'll be all right for tonight, perhaps tomorrow. There is no pus in the wound and it does not smell." She frowned. "The real problem is hydration and eventually nutrition." William gestured in understanding.

They slipped back outside and locked the cell. Glancing at her pocket watch to ensure she had enough time, she made her way out of the unused part of the basement into the more actively used portion and stopped in front of a set of glass cases positioned in the wide hallway. She reached into a library case of old textbooks and reference materials to pull out a scarred and dirty copy of _Gray's Anatomy_ , quickly flipping to a predetermined page and took out a note.

Quickly scanning it, Julia looked up. "My students have been taking care of him, but they don't think they can keep him hidden and sedated much past Thursday. Their shifts will be over then, much as I assumed." Julia informed him.

"But they _can_ do it?" William asked, dreading the fact that Julia had roped her students into this deception as well.

"Yes, they can."

"All right, we'll do our best. That will give us two days to see what evidence we have in his notes, the recordings and anything else before finding a place to move him to," William agreed, while scanning the glass-fronted shelving.

"Very well. Let me write them a quick note that we'll move him Thursday night then," she murmured, scribbling a quick reply. When she looked up, William was reaching high into one of the shelves and brought out a rectangular wooden box, a huge, satisfied grin on his face. "Julia. This is an Edison cylinder player. It is missing some of the pieces, which is why it is stashed away here I presume, but I think I can make it work. Do you think anyone will miss it?"

Julia shook her head and told him to go ahead and take it, shifting a few books around to fill in the 'hole' on the shelf as he added it to the bag. A few minutes later, they were sneaking back off the grounds, holding hands and laughing as they ran out the back gate and into the street. Forgetting himself, that awful party and their disguises for just a moment, William grabbed Julia and pulled her towards him in a demanding kiss of their own, his hands roaming the curves of her body, unbound and loose beneath male attire. Backing her against a tree well hidden in the shadows, William pressed her up against the bark, debating with himself if it were safe enough to grant her one of her experiences.

Surprised that he was acting so boldly, she smiled inwardly. It had been ages since he had kissed her like this, and it had been so long since she'd experienced this kind of passion she lost all awareness of time in the melting rush she felt overtaking her. _This is the William I have been missing!_

Suddenly, the sound of a horses hooves could be heard down the street, and they were brought back to reality, remembering that all was not well and that they were not free to be lovers stealing into the shadows. They pulled apart and quickly ran down a side street to the Star Room's borrowed wagon to evade further scrutiny.

Settled into the wagon, Julia sighed contentedly and made a laughing comment about how much she enjoyed herself today, expecting him to agree, when William at that point remembered he did not enjoy seeing her cavort with other men and did not respond to her, thinking it best to hold his tongue.

Julia could sense the change come back over him, and knew for sure that he was disturbed with her, probably about what happened at the party. The moment having been broken, they rode back to the Star Room in silence, with Julia ruminating about their situation.

 _A while ago he could not keep his hands off of me. Why should he be angry? And they say women are difficult to understand!_ Julia frowned.

After dropping off the wagon, they walked to the hotel. William remained quiet, and Julia doubted that his thoughts were completely absorbed by their investigation or wondering how to best repair the broken Edison player. Given the scowl on his face, she was willing to wager that he was unhappy about what had happened at the club.

The longer the silence between them, the more irritated she became. _He's being ridiculous! I was playing a part! I had to flirt with other men, lead them on…it's what I had to do!_ As they neared the Prince Albert Julia decided that she had had enough and confronted him.

"All right William, you've been upset with me ever since we left the party. You know I was playing a role! Being a virtious, respectable married woman was not going to get me the information we needed! Why are you jealous?" she goaded him.

William considered if answering honestly was wise, and decided that he would, as he was too angry to be polite.. "I'm well aware of the role you played, but it seems to me that you enjoyed it a bit too much," his voice tight, unable to inject any levity. "Since your husband is boring you of late, perhaps you have discovered yourself amenable to enjoying some amusements elsewhere?" He saw Julia's face redden; she obviously did not know he'd overheard her conversation from the vantage of the air grate.

Julia immediately felt a jolt of apprehension tear through her at his words. _What on Earth had he seen?_ She winced as he continued quickly enough.

"Were you incited to compare my kisses to others? Did Pendrick lead you to wonder what else you were missing? Did you need more subjects for your little experiment?" William's tone veered to sarcastic. "Perhaps you should ask Nina if you can get a job at the Star Room and then you'll have an excuse for your escapades," he hissed under his breath.

Julia's outrage flared, so she slapped him across the cheek, surprising the both of them with her sudden fury. "What about you William, when did you become bored with me? When did I fail to inspire passion in you anymore?" she spat out, aware that she risked their cover stories with her behaviour. Fortunately there was no one on the street to witness her outburst.

His eyes went wide with shock, but William said nothing in response, closed himself down with obvious effort, and went directly into the hotel, taking his pipe out and clamping it between his teeth, assuming the persona of glowering father with a recalcitrant progeny for the benefit of the desk clerk. Julia followed him in, her thoughts confused and racing, trying to understand William's point of view and to justify, rationalize, her own actions. Nothing good came to her. Once upstairs in their room, William began fiddling with his Edison device, ignoring her. Julia got ready for bed and by the time she got out of the water closet, William was already on the mattress, facing the other side, pretending to be asleep when Julia knew he wasn't. They had only argued this way once before and it was not a pleasant memory. That time she had eventually apologized, but at the moment she was feeling righteous and disinclined.

She was too restless to sleep. She saw that William had examined Davis' belongings – retrieving all the keys and laying them out in groups. He set three aside, labeled with notes about what sort of locks they might fit. That gave Julia an idea of where they'd be searching the next day.

Sighing, she conceded that with the hard hours of travel as well as the excitement of the past few days, she was far too exhausted to think too deeply about anything. Making sure to leave everything on the desk for William to find it in the morning, she climbed into bed alongside her husband to try and rest, making it a point to face the opposite wall and ignore the guilt eating her from within that she told another man she was bored with her marriage.

 _The worst of it was that it was partly true._


	11. Wednesday Morning (The Morning After)

**_Wednesday Morning_**

Julia woke to the sound of the room door opening and closing. She rolled over causing a loud protest from the bed and sitting up and looking around the room, she immediately noticed that William had departed without so much as leaving a note. But given that he hadn't taken Davis' keys or the knapsack of tools with him, she assumed that his trip would be brief, most likely to retrieve the morning newspapers and possibly something to eat.

She had already spotted a laundry service down the street, so she got out of bed and began to collect their dirty clothes to be taken for cleaning and congratulated herself on remembering to check William's pockets when she pulled out a handkerchief folded neatly in a square as though it contained something. Opening it lest it contained something germane to their case, she was shocked instead to discover a few of her discarded curls, rather than a key or some other piece of evidence.

Holding it in her hand, she sat back down on the bed, unsure how to handle this discovery.

On the one hand, she now had her proof that he was less than thrilled with her new hairstyle, even if it were necessary. But rather than feel vindicated, she couldn't help but feel sad at his keepsake. He had always adored her curls and now she realized that they were just another victim (albeit minor) in this tragedy and of course it would be a difficult thing for him to handle.

Sighing deeply, she folded the curls back up and set it in the small desk and continued with her task of gathering the laundry to drop off. Despite the fact that things between them were not as passionate as they had once been, theirs was still a happy marriage and William was not only a good man, but he was _her man._ Wincing in shame at her actions not only last night but over the past few days, she knew her words and actions had hurt William greatly and that while things were not 100% what she desired at the moment, together they needed to work with one another to get their lives back.

Her guess was correct when a short while later, the door opened and she was immediately greeted by the smell of fresh coffee and the sight of William with a box, on top of which was a tray bearing two mugs and some sort of baked-good. She assessed him carefully—her husband appeared to be preoccupied with his task, off-loading the food tray and primarily interested in the contents of the box, not in conversation. Even after a brief and fitful sleep she still did not know what she wanted to say about the night before. He merely offered her a thin smile and the coffee mug without comment, and then displayed a newspaper from inside the box, folded to reveal Julia's letter to the editor.

Julia sighed internally then scanned the page. Her letter was printed in its entirety followed by a single line retracting Miss Cherry's story. Julia flipped through the _Gazette_ edition and noted that Miss Cherry had no by-line at all this time. The rest of the articles were the usual snippets of news from the far flung British Empire, the doings of King Edward, reports on foreign wars and such, along with alarmist rumblings about social unrest and anarchist plots. She put it down as uninformative. William was sipping his tea and neglecting his scone while he tinkered with the Edison player. _Still ignoring me?_ she wondered. Julia drank her coffee, appreciating the gesture of food and sought to break the ice as well as make amends for her hurtful words and gestures. "Thank you for breakfast. I take it you found the parts you were looking for?"

William took a moment to answer while continuing to work. "Yes, I think so. There is a hardware store that opens at six which serves Toronto's revitalization efforts, so I was first in line. If you look in the bottom of the box, you will see that none of today's other papers breathe a word about me, you, the Inspector, the shooting of Station House's No. 4's constables…all of it has strangely disappeared. I am not sure what to make of that."

"Indeed." Julia understood William wanted to focus on their work instead of discussing the current discord between them, so she perused the papers, thinking it was just as well they were not trying to revisit their relationship problems—there were more pressing concerns. "I do so worry about George, Henry and Gus Jackson….I wish we could just go to the hospital—but I suppose it would be a trap."

"Exactly. Even if Mr. Graham, the Constabulary or the Black Hand are temporarily diverted off our trail, the secrecy about the men's wellbeing indicates rather tight security. We cannot risk it." He straightened, finally looking her way. William pushed his disquiet aside. _We need to do this together_ , he told himself. _There will be time later to address what happened between us, assuming we survive this._

"I think we can listen to the recording with what I have rigged up. Meyers told me that his operative, Mr. Grier, was able to turn the machine on when he saw Mr. Graham and Councilor Williams close themselves into that room. The cylinder records, at most, two to four minutes. With any luck we will get something that implicates Mr. Graham in Mr. Dobbs' death."

With that he placed the cylinder in its cradle, positioned the needle and flipped the switch. William listened carefully, taking notes while Julia sat at the end of the bed to overhear as well. The player produced a pair of scratchy voices which approximated Robert Graham and Franklin Williams. Something about the application for Melinda Street being filed and both men getting rich, then Graham telling Franklin to "…take care of Dobbs" accompanied by a threat if he did not do so. The rest was unintelligible, possibly Williams protesting the order, but William and Julia had no trouble imagining the last moments of the frightened labour organizer (having seen his dead body) after Williams stopped talking and was presumably doing the deed.

William took a moment to explain what evidence he hoped to have Detective Watts collect from the Bacchus Club, and that he had already posted an anonymous letter to him at the Station House with the particulars. He replayed the recording twice more before giving up and sharing his conclusions. "This might be some evidence of the corruption, but not exactly how it was conducted."

Julia had been thinking the same thing while listening to the recording and paging through the stack of newspapers. "Yes. And we have only the suggestion that Graham's words actually ordered Dobbs' death and that Williams complied. A good attorney will tear it up in court, if it even gets that far…"

"Yes. The recording may not be admissible." William flipped through his notes and sat next to her on the bed, his need for emotional and physical distance from her forgotten in his focus on the case. "I wonder though. That line about 'the application being filed.' That may be an opportunity. Everything in the Hall of Records is date and time stamped by the filing office—no exceptions. It makes sense that it was Jeffrey Davis who filed the application for Franklin Williams as a full partner in the conspiracy, from his unique position in that office. If Davis did so and immediately quit his job, and got his appointment as Chief Constable all within hours…"

"…We can make a time line of the corruption and use the application as evidence of the _quid-pro-quo_!" Julia enthused as she squeezed his thigh, forgetting in her excitement that all was not well between them.

William was pleased with that idea as well as her touch for a moment, before his shoulders drooped. "It is still not enough. It may implicate Williams and maybe lead to Davis, but does not yet point to Mr. Graham as the king pin nor does it lead to his American backers yet. The corruption angle does not tie your kidnapping back to Mr. Graham either."

"But William. We have corroboration of what Lydia Hall told you, maybe not the whole thing but a promise of physical evidence. We have Davis tied to Williams and Williams tied to Graham regarding Melinda Street. I believe we can tie the Club to Mr. Dobbs' body being moved in those distinctive wooden crates, and now we have at least one man's name from that party, Mr. Cadwallader. He can lead us to the entire guest list and that Mr. Graham was present at the party with Mr. Williams." She looked expectantly at him, knowing he was turning ideas over in his head when he got that faraway look on his face.

He got up and collected the three brass keys he found on Davis' watch chain, showing them to his wife. "Chief Davis has to be the key-literally. Mr. Giles echoed the Inspector about following the money trail and I have identified these three keys he had on him which look like they are to safes or strong boxes of some kind. Davis is the one who falsified the records, perhaps did other things to make sure it was only Graham who even got an opportunity to bid on Melinda Street. Being adept at corruption, he probably has copies of whatever he did, for later leverage over Graham down the road. Mr. Giles believed Davis would have put Graham to shame in the blackmail department…" He trailed off. "None of this gets your kidnapping by Councilor Williams tied back to Mr. Graham…"

William stood, clearly frustrated again, perhaps not wanting to be reminded of how they got Cadwallader's name, Julia believed. She sighed. "None of that exonerates you in Lydia Hall's death…" She turned to the obituary column. "Oh, my! Councilor Franklin Williams—it says here he passed away after a tragic carriage accident early Monday morning. It goes on to extol his record of public service etcetera, etcetera. Did you see this?" she asked.

"Yes, I overheard Graham speak of it last night, but he didn't say a cause, and the newspaper doesn't really say anything either. The implication in the obituary is that he died of unspecified injuries, but I wonder if he really died of his wound or if Mr. Graham or the Black Hand got to him first." William shrugged his shoulders.

"What? Mr. Graham was there? He said that Williams was dead? William, why didn't you mention any of this to me last night? Why wasn't there mention of this in any of the previous papers? You would think a death of someone as notable as he was would merit more than just an obituary," Julia asked, receiving a shrug in answer. After waiting expectantly for a reply, she finally gave up and went on to read the other news of the day and was about to close the paper in frustration, when her eyes lighted upon a classified advertisement. "William? Is it just me or…? Come over here. Look at this."

She read it out loud.

 _"Found: Gold Pocketknife inscribed Billy & Pinky 1875. Contact Box 314 with proof."_

She handed him the page then scrambled through the other papers while William examined her find. "Look. This stood out to me as odd. The same classified notice is in each of the papers. You don't suppose…"

"Winifred Pink? Is she trying to contact me?" William bunched his eyebrows together. Miss Pink was quite clever and it was a good thing Julia spotted the advertisements because he himself never read them.

Julia's curiosity was keen. "Dare I ask why 'Billy and Pinky'?"

He snorted. "The other Young Scholars were fond of diminutives or so called 'nick names'—Miss Pink and I were decidedly NOT fond of them—so we got a little teasing at first…" He relaxed a fraction and chuckled. "It might be worth the risk—I cannot imagine anyone else who would know that except her. I will write back with my 'proof'. Perhaps she can be of help—getting into places or taking the investigation to places you and I cannot."

"What can she do?"

"I think Miss Pink is quite capable of finding things out, we both know that." William paused only for a breath, not needing to emphasize the truth she uncovered which cost them Roland. "Besides, I thought you believed women were equal to men in most regards. As for what she can do, for one thing, getting information from various records is a usual part of her job and she probably knows the systems as well or better than those who work there. I did not get what I was hoping for when I broke into the Hall of Records there…"

William grimaced, remembering hitting George and felt ashamed. He cleared his throat. "No one will think twice about her rummaging around in there or the library or other places that records are kept, permit offices, banks even…" A nascent idea was forming, animating his speech. "We can ask her to do a search for the eminent domain and sales records. The filings for Melinda Street would have required naming all the financial partners, so in addition to Graham, we should be able to learn the names of other investors, which may include American associates, even leading back to the Black Hand. Hopefully she can also verify if the timing is right for Davis getting paid off for manipulating the records in Mr. Graham's favour!"

"She might be able to ask around to get the names of all the men at that party as well, who can confirm Councilor Williams and Mr. Graham being in attendance, but…" Julia stopped, worried about William's excitement and even her own willingness to importune Miss Pink, a woman she admired. "I am concerned that we are putting her in danger, William. Have we not had enough of that?"

William was reminded how upset she was at him since her words were delivered rather sharply. He tried not to let on it bothered him. "Julia," he said evenly. "We need help and only have a limited amount of time. I know I may be credited with solving cases, but it requires a team and many man-hours to get to the truth of things. As good as you and I are, we are only two and have to the end of the day today, tomorrow on the outside, to get some concrete proof of the conspiracy."

"I understand, William but I worry it is dangerous to Miss Pink."

"Yes, but you yourself have not shied away from getting help where needed, you've already brought your students and Miss Bloom into this. I know that you didn't undertake such things lightly, so why can't you assume the same for me, Julia?" he asked. "Why question my judgment all of a sudden?"

Julia sighed, acknowledging that he had a point. Walking up to him and stroking his hair in an effort to mend the rift between them, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. At first, he stood impassively before his arms circled around her and Julia felt secure in his embrace. The last few days had certainly been an emotional rollercoaster and if she were honest, a lot of her anger at William was just misplaced concern and worry over his safety and wellbeing.

"William, of course you're right. It's just that I only want to clear your name and it appears that there's nothing I won't do to achieve this, because I know you could never do such a thing. When Chief Davis asked me why you would be alone with a Burlesque dancer in our suite, I knew there was an explanation other than the obvious that he kept trying to hint at. I honestly didn't even consider such a possibility until he mentioned it, and then I despised him for sullying your name so. And then I asked myself if that was why you had lost interest in me, that maybe you had become taken with another, but I still don't think you could ever do that. Just like you knew I could never have killed Darcy, and how you risked everything to clear my name…" she rambled.

William agreed. "And, well, since I was unwilling to commit that particular sin _with you_ …"

"You were unlikely to commit it with another," Julia said wryly.

"Yes," he murmured.

For a brief moment, William leaned into her touch and kissed the palm of her hand, before withdrawing and closing himself up again. He was tired of fighting against everyone, most specifically with her. Sighing, he merely coughed to acknowledge her remarks and moved on swiftly, trying to stay focused. "Meyers has us hamstrung! We need information, evidence…. _something!_ We could use a strong lever, strong enough to cause Mr. Graham and the Black Hand to back away—and we need help to do that. If it _is_ Miss Pink offering to help, I believe we can let her decide what she is up for…"

He rose and paced, gesturing as he measured the four strides from one side of the tiny room to the other. "Other wealthy businessmen in the city are likely to be angry about Mr. Graham's sweetheart deal and may be quite willing to talk about their displeasure. They might even be so disposed to want a different political alignment that does not erode their bottom lines or introduces unfair competition in the form of American dollars. To that end, Miss Pink may be able to contact Alderman Hubbard for us; that would hardly put her at risk. _He_ is no friend of Chief Davis certainly, nor of the Melinda Street plan. Alderman Hubbard could be persuaded to bring additional pressure to bear from another angle, and I cannot imagine anyone will easily connect the alderman to Miss Pink or back to us…"

While William was talking, Julia let her mind wander again, this time back to when she and William had been apart. She had developed a _quasi_ ally almost a decade ago now, someone as dark and devious as Mr. Graham and as cold-blooded as the Black Hand: Rioghnan "Silkie" O'Sullivan.

Julia could think of no man as diametrically opposite to her husband. William Murdoch was dark-haired, handsome and fit, modest and straight forward. Rioghnan O'Sullivan, on the other hand, was blue-eyed with long white hair, soft-bellied with a gravelly voice, quite secretive in his habits. Whereas William was virtuous, upright and moral, a man who struggled with his faith and felt his flaws with deep guilt, "Silkie" was calculating and wholly, pathologically amoral, possessing only a glancing familiarity with legal niceties and indifference to social pressures because of the power he wielded. And "Silkie" loved to stir things up from behind the scenes….

Julia was startled at her assessment: that was also how she viewed Terrence Meyers. She thought of Meyers and O'Sullivan as master manipulators with deep pockets and a network of resources who preferred to remain in the shadows.

 _We need resources like that and someone potentially as powerful,_ she realized. _Could Mr. O'Sullivan offer help?_ She was about to tell William about this possibility and stopped herself. She'd never told him about her experience with Mr. O'Sullivan, and now was not the time to explain her connection with Toronto's criminal underworld, not unless it was absolutely necessary. In her musings, she missed the last thing William said.

"Come again?" she asked, catching her wandering mind.

"I was making a commentary about how the average person underestimates women. Didn't Terrence Meyers make a point in praising your physical strength? I believe he said it would take three of his men to equal you…?" William found himself annoyed at Meyers' presumption and proud of what his wife was capable of, even when he was put out at her. _Meyers_ who leered at Julia… _Meyers_ who appeared out of thin air at the jail to release him… _Meyers_ who claimed he could find Julia for him… The hairs on the back of his neck stood out.

Julia saw her husband go very still in that way he does when an idea captures him. "What? What is wrong?"

William's palms became damp with sweat. _Meyers!_ "Julia?" He brought himself to look at her carefully, to make sure he had her attention. "What if Meyers put recording devices in the Windsor Hotel as well? In the building, the hall, even our suite!" William's rage got the better of him making it hard to keep his voice down. "If I find out he has done so, when we are done with this, Julia I swear…"

"William," she laid a hand on his arm. "First of all, let me point out, you do not swear, ever." She tried not to smile up at him. "Second—when we get through this I will hold him down for you." _This,_ Julia was quite serious about. She held William's eyes until she saw reason returning to them. "Now, we need to get dressed and get to it. You are right. It is seven in the morning and we have roughly forty hours, give or take, before we have to deal with Mr. Davis."


	12. Wednesday Afternoon (Keys to the Case)

The next two hours went by quickly, pushed along with William's mounting anger at Terrence Meyers' suspected duplicitousness.

Messenger-boy 'Gideon White' left a reply with "Box 314" in hopes it was a safe way to connect with Freddie Pink, while his father 'John' posted a letter with no return address to Detective Watts at Station House Four, leaving an anonymous tip for the Bacchus Club being the potential crime scene for Edward Dobbs' murder. Then 'father and son' entered the Windsor though the tradesman's entrance during the breakfast rush on the pretext of "fixing" a hallway light. William and Julia knew that the morning kitchen chaos was perfect for slipping in unnoticed amongst the comings and goings of other workers.

They decided to go straight to their suite and start the search for evidence of Meyers' spying, working outwards from there. William detected the tell-tale traces first. With Gideon holding a ladder and John wielding a screwdriver, cables were traced in under five minutes to a linen closet: a remote observation station similar to the set up James Gillies had used against him. Unfortunately the space had been cleared of all of the other evidence; certainly no recordings were to be had, frustrating William in the utmost. A new light bulb was screwed into the hall fixture for good measure in case anyone asked about the 'workmen,' then they were out on the street with no one the wiser.

William's disappointment was sharp since finding anything at the Windsor was a long shot anyway, but anger with Terrence Meyers was digging at him even more painfully.

Julia struggled to keep up with the furious pace William was setting. Since it was still much too early to rendezvous with Miss Pink, William wanted to go straightaway to their next task. "Father, wait for me" she tried to shout. Her voice was coming back slowly, but volume was still a problem.

He paused while she caught up. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

William held his tongue. _What am I thinking about?_ The fact that Meyers was snooping in their privacy was appalling; that he might have known about Julia's kidnapping as it was happening was unforgivable. _What I have been doing is imagining which of Dante's circles in which to drop a certain naked Dominion spy!_

"You don't want to know," he gave a tight answer instead. "Right now we need to fit these keys to a lock, starting with Davis' living quarters."

Six blocks uptown, the streets were still leafy green and it was hard to imagine that here was ever a conflagration in such close proximity. William and Julia decide they would again pose as workmen, retrieving the wagon and going right to Davis' door, use his keys to enter and bring furniture or other small items out of the building in broad daylight, saying they were hired to help Davis move to a new residence if any one asked.

No one did. The neighborhood was filled with respectable working-class people intent on their own lives, having no interest at all in common men like themselves going about their business. Julia, for her part, was also beginning to enjoy the true measure of what it was to be male in society—able to do anything and go anywhere without comment, and in such comfortable clothing too!

Jeffrey Davis had only two modest rooms on the top floor, stuffed full of objects from his former life. By all accounts he'd lost his wife along with the house he built when he lost his job as Chief Constable, but Davis tried to bring as many belongings with him when he fell into obscurity, making the search of his possessions daunting. They took a few items down to the wagon to keep up the pretext they were movers, just to decrease the clutter.

"It's a good thing that Davis did not draw attention to himself and move into better accommodations before his official rise back to Chief Constable," William commented when he got back upstairs. "I suppose he did not have enough time afterwards."

"Of course he didn't! He was far too occupied with framing you for murder and kidnapping me!" Julia tried some humour, but she was not feeling the joke.

She and William worked as quickly as possible opening every locked or latched item; she saw him get more agitated as each proved not to be the one they were looking for. Eventually only one key remained. "What else did Mr. Giles say?"

He exhaled. "Just that Davis enjoyed keeping his keys with him; that he liked to gloat about his power. Since he didn't have time to install anything personal such as a safe in his new office, it has to be here!" William gestured to the desk, various trunks, cabinets and two strong boxes he'd ransacked already.

Julia could not stand her husband's frustration. "Stop! Please. You are giving me a headache. We need to think about this psychologically. You said Davis likes keeping his keys on his person and likes to remind himself of his power. That means he needed the reassurance of touching and looking."

"Yes. I got that part. This room is unrevealing. We have opened every lock and examined behind and underneath every piece of furniture, wall and floorboard. His secrets must be somewhere else that Mr. Giles did not know about." William pointed to a photograph of a landscape. "Perhaps he has hidden it wherever that location is…"

Julia considered his guess and rejected it. "No-I do not believe that is true. Men do not really change very much, and if Mr. Davis required obsessively contemplating his power, then whatever it is that gives him that power is here, in the room, where he would have plotted his revenge. It is here, somewhere he can, as you say, gloat about it." The two of them stood side by side, surveying the space. Julia put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes in frustration. A hot flush began to creep up her back when she looked at the ceiling.

"William, what if we have be overlooking the obvious….?"

* * *

"Julia, you are brilliant!" William praised as he discovered Davis' safe, secured to the ceiling underneath a decorative medallion directly over the bed—just where the man could stare at it. The final key opened a small metal door and William withdrew the contents of a rather large cavity, handing them down to her.

"You gave me the idea, actually," she answered, reaching for the papers. "You told me about finding that gold over your own bed at Mrs. Kitchen's. One seldom looks up…."

William checked his watch. He was itching to read the papers Julia was carrying; however escaping with the information was paramount. "We should get these back to our room before we attempt to make contact with Miss Pink. We will have to have a safe place of our own to store them."

They put everything away and relocked the door, heading back to the stables prior to returning to their room. The rough tension Julia felt building between them was gone, much to her relief.

"Father," she stumbled on the name and giggled, trying to keep a straight face in her excitement. "Listen, to this. If I understand it correctly, it was Mr. Davis who initially contacted Mr. Graham about acquiring parcels of land from owners who did not have enough money to pay their taxes, let alone rebuild after the fire. Mr. Graham initially offered Davis a modest finders' fee, then later approached Davis about making even more money…" Next to him on the wagon bench, she read Davis' papers and William, with his impressive memory, added in additional connections.

William gave everything a once-over after they were safely in their room. "Davis must have been an impressive records clerk." William could not help noticing with approval. "His notes are meticulous, outlining a vast web of extortion, bribery and blackmail. He also seems to have been planning well beyond getting reinstalled as Chief Constable."

"Yes. We have a clear outline of the whole conspiracy to give to Mr. Meyers. This is enough, isn't it?" Julia wondered aloud. She believed it was tantalizingly close to all falling into place, and was starting to feel relieved she and William would have their lives back, and soon.

William stood and rubbed his face, hearing the hopefulness in her voice and hating to disappoint her. "No. What we have is good. We do not have the names of the American backers, and only a hearsay connection between Franklin Williams, Davis and Mr. Graham. This is a map of sorts to follow, but not actual proof that will stand up in a court of law."

Julia frowned. "What more will it take? Not just for Mr. Meyers, but to clear your name and get Inspector Brackenreid reinstated?"

William began pacing in the room again. "I have been thinking about why Chief Davis and Mr. Graham in particular were so insistent I confess to the murder of Lydia Hall." He stopped, feeling suddenly guilty that he refused to do so after being offered a deal in exchange for Julia's life. He looked at her, seeing how precious she was to him. "Graham, er… tried to make an exchange with me—my confession for your life-that was how badly he wanted it." He searched her Julia's face seeing her grimace.

"Well, he was not going to deliver on that promise, now was he?" Julia was angry, just not at William this time.

"No. He wanted me discredited in order to derail Dobbs' murder investigation and protect Franklin Williams. A murder confession accomplishes that rather elegantly." He sat beside her on the bed, giving her a vexed look. "Chief Davis wanted Inspector Brackenreid discredited to protect Councilor Williams as well as get his own revenge on the Inspector."

"The other thing a confession does is prevent a public trial and wider investigation, perhaps stifling public scrutiny?" Julia speculated. "If they can promulgate false news stories, get the public sidetracked onto an alternative story, the truth will be buried beneath all of it!"

"Exactly. Now, for our purposes, we need absolute, incontrovertible proof to give to the crown prosecutor, and if possible, a confession from Jeffrey Davis about his role would do nicely; turnabout about is fair play after all."


	13. Weds Afternoon: Pink and Pi

From her perch on top of the wagon, Julia saw Miss Pink's approach first, the woman's beribboned straw hat sailing determinedly through the teeming street. William asked for a meeting at St. Patrick Market which was more crowded than ever since the St. Lawrence Market was not yet rebuilt after the Great Fire, believing blending into the crowds would be protective. Julia tipped her cap to William as a signal then moved the wagon up the street, planning to circle back.

William made sure Miss Pink had not been followed, then joined her amongst the market stalls at street level. "Do you think the whitefish is good today?" he asked as he came alongside her. She commented offhandedly, taking several long seconds to catch on to his identity underneath the round glasses, red beard and pipe.

"I do think something stinks," she said finally, stepping away from the larger crowd and making eye contact with him. "What are you looking for at the market today, sir?"

"I am looking to hire out my wagon. Perhaps you are in need?" William guided her to the curb, talking rapidly as they walked. Once they were out of earshot of others, William began. "Thank you for coming. I want to assure you…"

"William! I don't get my information from newspaper headlines or gossip columns. I know very well you are innocent of the charges, but my God! What a mess you are in. How can I help?" She listened intently as William rapidly outlined what was needed and the potential risk, asking only two questions.

They parted and William was up on the bench next to Julia by the time she'd made a single circuit of the block. "Well?" she asked as she signaled the horse to move. "Will Miss Pink help us?"

"Freddie will do it. By chance she has another case she is working on that can be stretched to our purposes and told me she is on a first name basis with most clerks in many of the government offices—she says she even knows Jeffrey Davis, which makes sense, I suppose." William looked behind them one more time, just to be safe. "She is also going to try and find out about George and the others for us, if she can. There have been no public statements. I asked her to research and document a connection from Davis to Graham and Williams through any remaining records, particularly through the land deal; with any luck it will lead back to Mr. Graham's American money-men."

Julia's eyes remained on the traffic ahead, seeming to be conflicted about what he just told her. He reminded her to turn left on Queen before continuing, then smiled at her worried frown. "The conspiracy requires documents be filed to legitimate what they are trying to do. She promises she can go undetected for long enough to complete the inquiry."

She sighed. It was a relief to know someone trustworthy was helping, and working with William had been stimulating. On any other day she'd be happy with all that had been accomplished; she knew the day was not over, however. Looking over at him she made herself ask: "What next?"

William looked at his timepiece with consternation. _Where did the day go? It is past five in the afternoon._ "Now we need to tie Mr. Fergus and Mr. McFadden, to the Black Hand with connections to American money."

"Do you have any ideas on how to do that?" Julia asked.

Rubbing his face with his hands, William shook his head, recalling the last dealings he had with the 'Misters Falcone,' senior and junior and their illegal enterprise; these were men who kept their 'family business' close to the vest. "No, no ideas other than getting those two henchmen to change loyalties. What possible pressure would get them to turn on their masters….?" William trailed off, wondering if they were full members of the crime organization or merely hired men, and if that would make any difference.

Julia fully appreciated the dilemma—How indeed to break open the inner workings of a criminal underworld? _Perhaps fighting fire with fire?_

They were silent for the rest of the journey and didn't say another word to one another until they returned to their hotel room and were alone once again Ever paranoid, (and with good reason), William checked their room for listening devices, looking in vents, light fixtures and every nook and cranny. Satisfied that there were none, he signaled that it was okay to speak.

"We do not have much time, do we? And even if you could personally confront Mr. Fergus and Mr. McFadden, you have nothing with which to pressure them at the moment, do you?" Julia asked, receiving the reply she expected.

"No. The Black Hand is very secretive, consists of a web of family loyalties; it will be difficult for me to penetrate, but I believe I must, one way or the other."

Julia frowned. "On the other hand, it is also not wise for you to parade yourself around—you are, after all, a wanted man."

"Yes. You have outlined the edges of the problem excellently," he agreed sourly. "I have to find those men and force them to see things our way. This is one time I think Inspector Brackenreid's methods are going to be necessary…"

"William, I need you to listen. I have an idea, but I don't believe that you're going to like it," she began, waiting to see if she had his full attention.

"All right, what is it?" he asked with trepidation.

"You're an honest lawman going up against men with no scruples. I know someone who might be able to help us. I made his, umm… acquaintance a few years ago. He is a Toronto businessman who I imagine is quite angry about Mr. Graham's unfair real-estate deal, and he, er…purportedly runs his own organization, very similar to the Black Hand." She saw William's brow furrow, but pressed on. "I propose to contact him and ask him to help us- I believe I can convince him it is in his own self-interest to act with us. His name is Mr. Rioghnan O'Sullivan…"

William felt a shiver go up his back. _O'Sullivan! A subtle, lethal combination of money and power always just outside the reach of the law- the spider in the center of a vast web of his own._ He knew exactly who she was talking about and was shocked she knew _about_ him let alone actually _knew_ O'Sullivan personally. "Julia, I cannot allow you to get mixed up with such a man – he is dangerous…!" William began before Julia interrupted.

"It's a better idea than yours - going straight into the Devil's den and hoping to physically subdue all those men yourself singlehandedly!" Julia snapped. "Mr. O'Sullivan has resources equal to the Black Hand, and can find out information behind the scenes easily. He also has several men working for him who know how to do the dirty work."

"All the more reason for you to stay clear of him!" William struggled to tamp down his distress at her wild idea. He tried to keep his voice low and it was getting harder again. _She can't be serious, this will never work…_

Julia saw the doubt on his face, which spurred her on to speak even more passionately. "William, stick to what you know best and allow someone else to do the dirty work. It's because I love you and think so highly of you that I want to contact him - I don't want you sinking to his level—William, please, you promised to build me a house and have a family with me…I can't do those things without you," she begged, taking his face in her hands.

Locking eyes, they stared at each other directly before William grabbed her closer and kissed her intensely, taking her breath away.

"All right, Julia. It's against my better judgment, but very well. I agree to this because I want to return you to your life, I don't want us to be on the run anymore."

"Thank you, William," she murmured before kissing him again, all hints of discord between them gone. She felt his body respond and heard him groan.

"I'm going to clean up…with cold water," he announced as he stepped into the bathroom.

Julia giggled.

 _If only the walls of this place weren't so thin,_ she thought ruefully, admiring his backside as he disappeared in the water closet.


	14. Weds Night: Said the Spider to the Fly

**For more information on how Julia became acquainted with Silkie O'Sullivan, please see Ruthie Green's story "Deviation".**

* * *

 **Wednesday Night**

It was not entirely true to say that William agreed with Julia's proposal to ask for the assistance of Rioghnan "Silkie" O'Sullivan, but in the end he conceded because he was tired of living in continual fear that he would be recaptured and wouldn't be able to look out for Julia, who was in just as much danger simply because she was his wife.

Together, they composed a message for her to send to O'Sullivan's offices in the docklands, asking for a meeting at ten o'clock that evening at the Devil's Drum. The two of them waited nervously, picking at a light supper and pouring over the evening news editions and Davis' hidden papers. William managed to turn the back of the room's door into a make-shift chalk board for him to use to visually organize what they knew.

Even though there was no guarantee O'Sullivan even got the message, let alone as going to even respond to such an abrupt and out of nowhere request, they made plans for how the evening should ideally go. Thus, William advised 'Gideon' to rent a room at a seedy hotel next door to the Devil's Drum tavern and redress as a woman to meet Mr. O'Sullivan, so as to not let him know of her male alter ego.

She had assured him that she was more than capable of meeting with Mr. O'Sullivan by herself while William worked on other things, but William wouldn't hear of it, insisting that he would sit nearby unobtrusively.

He was well aware that his wife was an amazing woman with the strength of multiple men, but his honour wouldn't hear of allowing his wife to go to sordid tavern frequented by prostitutes and their customers, without his protection.

Particularly when said wife was meeting such a dangerous man.

By the time Julia walked into the tavern, clothed as a woman once again, she spotted William sitting at a table. Clutching her shawl about her as she made her way into the bar, she suddenly felt very self-conscious, as it dawned on her that every other woman in here was a prostitute. Despite her worldliness, she felt nervous at the unsavory world she'd just stepped into, and knew why William had insisted he accompany her here. She was glad that he was there.

To her grateful surprise, "Silkie" O'Sullivan was already waiting for her. Not wanting to attract suspicion, Julia ignored her husband and went straight to where O'Sullivan was sitting. A large, paunchy man with a shock of white hair and ruddy cheeks, he looked much the same as when Julia had last seen him several years ago.

 _Mr. O'Sullivan does not seem to recognize me,_ she thought. _But, then, why should he?_ Julia was dressed in the red wig she retained from the Star Room and dress she altered to be more revealing. She immediately moved to take a seat at O'Sullivan's table despite his frown and waving her off. Julia smiled nervously, unsure of how to begin.

He glowered when she tried to sit. "Move off darling, I am waiting for another…"

Julia put her hand on his and whispered, trying to hold his blue eyes with hers. "Mr. O'Sullivan, I know how much you hate it when people do things against your wishes, but I think I am just right for you tonight and am hoping we can come to another understanding…" She decided to reference the conversation she had with him in his office as a way to identify herself, sliding in next to him as if she was soliciting him as a customer.

O'Sullivan narrowed his eyes for a moment. He finally recognized her, his bushy brows rising in surprise with a double-take. Laughing softly then, O'Sullivan shook his head. "Good Evening, doc…"

"Ruby. My name is Ruby," Julia interrupted with a flutter of her lashes and mischief in her heart.

"Ah. Your hair, I take it?" he asked, pointing to her head.

Julia touched the red wig and giggled. "Why, yes, what else?"

"Well, _Miss Ruby_ , it's been awhile since we've last spoken."

Smiling nervously, Julia struggled with where to begin her request. She'd never even dreamt that she'd ever have to have a conversation or make a request like the one she was about to have. The last time she and Mr. O'Sullivan had dealings, she helped him identify a killer in his community and he made sure that man paid the ultimate price. She took in a breath to speak then her companion interrupted.

"Miss Ruby, you didn't call me here to catch up on our lives. So, I'm assuming that you need my assistance. I see your husband has gotten himself into a bit of trouble of late, murder it seems," he whispered in a low rasp right into her ear, cutting straight to business.

 _Blunt as ever,_ she observed. Nodding, Julia smiled in gratitude that he'd spared her the awkwardness of an explanation. "Yes, but William Murdoch is a good man, I know for a fact that he'd never…" she began before she was cut off again.

"I know who William Murdoch is and I have followed you in the papers as well. He is currently wanted in a burlesque dancer's death." At this the man threw back the remainder of his drink and signaled for another one for himself and offering one for her as well.

Julia nodded and accepted the whiskey; she was going to need liquid courage for this conversation.

"Yes, exactly," Julia confirmed. "Those have been false stories given to the papers to distract from the truth. Lydia Hall was not only herself a victim, she was also a witness. She saw Franklin Williams murder the labour organizer, Edward Dobbs with his own hands at the behest of Robert Graham. She was in fear for her life and came to my husband for protection. Only they followed her to our home and knocked William out and then murdered that poor, terrified woman. They placed her body in my bed, next to my husband, to make him look like the murderer," Julia added.

"Edward Dobbs was a good man. He didn't deserve the sendoff he got," O'Sullivan commented with a scowl. "So Franklin Williams is in cahoots with Robert Graham for the murder you say? Most interesting… Of course Graham has always made you wonder what he was up to; furthermore, I have despised him for years. What else do you know?" he asked, tipping the barmaid well once she brought the drinks over.

"Mr. Dobbs was murdered at the Bacchus Club and we've tipped off someone we trust in the constabulary. Hopefully, he will go there and collect any evidence. Furthermore, I suspect you heard that I was missing, but that I later retracted it? That actually happened, Mr. O'Sullivan. I was abducted from my suite and was held hostage for over a day. I never saw Mr. Graham, yet I heard his men speak of him and I actually did see Franklin Williams. I have no evidence of Graham's involvement, yet I know he was complicit," Julia explained.

O'Sullivan went very still, his face revealing nothing. "We have helped each other in the past but I owe you nothing. What is to my benefit that I can help you with?"

Julia knew his reputation for deal making, so she decided to lay it out for him. "That development deal which Mr. Graham won for Melinda Street was corrupt at its core. He bought and paid for Franklin Williams' seat on the Board of Control which signed off on the deal, and bribed and blackmailed his way into the proper permits."

"I can't say that I'm surprised," he replied, seeming to be bored with such a revelation, being well versed with this as the normal cost of doing his sort of business.

She took in a deep breath. "Even with your resources, I cannot imagine you were pleased with Mr. Graham's unfair advantage. But it is more than that: we believe that deal is actually an attempt by Americans to take advantage of the Toronto fire to get a foothold into Canada, and that the money that went to pay for it came from an illegal American crime organization known as the Black Hand."

She saw the man's veins bulge at his temples and for a moment, Julia worried that he might have a stroke before he regained his composure.

"Ruby," he said quietly through a tight jaw. "You know I support my community when others bypass it. After the fire I organized assistance for the victims even before the city fathers put a dollar in the kitty. I have created wealth, security, opportunity and jobs for thousands of people: _Canadian_ people. The idea that Americans are trying to infiltrate my country is abhorrent to me and that a criminal element from the States is intruding here in that way is not something I can suffer without redress."

Julia believed him, while having a perfect understanding that O'Sullivan possessed multiple motives. "It seems to me to be in your interest then for us to help one another. I also have other information that you might find useful," she added.

O'Sullivan examined the whiskey in his glass, holding it up to the light then gazing around the smoky, crowded room, while Julia waited for him to speak. She kept her gaze intently on him, pushing everything else out of her awareness except his flat eyes. Nothing changed in them when he answered.

"What do you need?"

She and William planned this part out, assuming Julia could get this far with her quarry. "I want Robert Graham to be brought down by all of this, destroyed socially, politically and financially. I want justice not only for Edward Dobbs' family, but for Miss Hall and my husband, who is wholly innocent of her murder. However, Graham has been smart in that a lot of this can't easily be traced back to him, so I need your assistance in his getting his co-conspirators to admit their part and turn evidence against him so that we can get a conviction," Julia stated, trying not to be distracted by what she saw out of the corner of her eye – namely her husband engaged with another woman. She took a deep breath and did her best to stay focused on the task at hand.

"Who are the weakest links?" he asked sipping his drink again.

"Two men, Mr. Fergus and Mr. McFadden were helping Williams, but were ultimately working for Graham and are members of the Black Hand headed by Giuseppe Falcone and his son. They are the link between Graham and the Americans. By the way, Chief Constable Davis is also involved in the conspiracy," Julia added, watching the man's eyes go wide with mention of the last name.

Meanwhile she did her damnedest to disregard the very buxom woman sitting next to her husband and making decidedly friendly overtures to her husband.

O'Sullivan leaned forward. "As for the Falcones, it won't be the first time they've tried to make a move into Toronto. They're feeling the heat a little too much in Buffalo and are looking for a new place to do business. Fergus and McFadden? I might know who those two idiots are, or where to find them. Can't say I'm surprised about the involvement of Jeffrey Davis either; I thought it was suspicious that he magically got his old job back despite the scandal last year. Problem is that no one knows where _he_ is, and word on the street is that Graham wants him dead just like Franklin Williams now that the poor bastard's served his purpose," the man trailed off, taking another sip of his drink.

Julia tried not to show her interest in the fact that O'Sullivan already knew about the connections between Davis, Graham and Williams, and that Graham was after Davis. _That wide-eye reaction I got a second ago about Chief Davis was an act…well I have one better for him!_ She decided to set that fact aside for later consideration. Julia smiled her most winning, cat-with-a-canary smile.

Shaking his head, he laughed as he saw the grin on Julia's face. "But you know where he is, don't you?" he asked

"Not only do I know, I have him in my custody," Julia stated. "But I'm afraid I can't keep him past tomorrow," Julia informed him. "Mr. O'Sullivan, I could use your assistance in getting him to cooperate in the investigation of the murders of Lydia Hall and Edward Dobbs, by getting Mr. Fergus and Mr. McFadden to testify about the whole conspiracy, in exchange for immunity from any involvement in the murders. I want to see the parties responsible for such acts charged, not innocent parties like my husband and who knows who else," Julia explained.

"I can do that. I'll make sure Fergus and McFadden are persuaded to help your investigation against Graham. As for Davis, I'm assuming you need help in both moving him and persuading him to assist you, correct?" he asked.

"I do. We'll need to wait until later at night to move him, there's no way of moving him without someone noticing him during the day," Julia added while staring at her husband who was entirely too close with the woman at his table, the displeasure crossing her face when she saw O'Sullivan look across at William and laugh softly.

Julia froze in fear when she realized that she had just given William away, but O'Sullivan merely looked at her and winked. "Can't say that I'd allow my wife to walk into a place like this on her own either. Come to think of it, I wouldn't allow her to walk in a place like this at all," he chuckled, tossing back the remainder of his drink.

Julia said nothing, but nodded in understanding.

Standing up, O'Sullivan grabbed his hat and cane. "Very well, Miss Ruby. Shall we meet tomorrow night at The Tipsy Ferret? Same time?"

Julia agreed. "Yes, that will work fine."


	15. Weds Night: Chemical Reaction

Walking into the Devil's Drum, William noticed it hadn't changed much in the five or so years since he'd last had the pleasure. The place was still smoky, dark and low ceilinged, filled with a variety of men craving anonymity, an incurious bar-keep requiring cash and women looking to sell themselves. He spotted a man that matched O'Sullivan's description sitting in curtained-off private nook, and made it a point to sit within sight of the table, but not close enough that he could actually hear what was being discussed. Part of it was strategic: for if he wasn't within earshot, he wouldn't be trying to listen in and attract attention, but another aspect was ethical, as William suspected that what the two would be discussing was going to be illegal. He'd already warred with himself about such issues, but ultimately decided that if they brought ultimate justice to Edward Dobbs' and Lydia Hall's families, and took bad men such as Graham _et al_ off the streets, William decided he could live with it for the greater good. He could still hear the Inspector's voice as the man had talked about the 'law of the jungle'…

But that didn't mean he wanted to know the details. A few minutes later, Julia walked into the bar and seemed nervous, and William knew he had made the right decision to accompany her here.

His notion of propriety didn't particularly like the thought of his wife in such a place. Still, he recommended it as the perfect spot for a rendezvous as it was a place that asked even fewer questions than the Prince Albert, and was accustomed to high-turnover of clientele and therefore didn't pay their customers any mind other than ensuring that they settled their tabs in cash prior to services rendered. This was why he'd met Mr. Falcone here to cut a deal for Anna Fulford's life, back when he was investigating the death of Lucille Messing and had accompanied Anna here as they had realized that Lucille and another young woman had come here in search of experiences of their own.

Though William knew that Julia liked her experiences, he doubted that this establishment had ever been one of them, and that perhaps its seediness was even too much for her judging from the way she clutched a shawl pulled together at her chest and how she just seemed ill at ease. He was glad he had accompanied her here.

 _As are you, William. You're here in hopes of an encounter of your own,_ he reminded himself. He knew within a few minutes he would be approached by a prostitute and he knew that the woman's attentions would make Julia jealous. A part of his mind counted on being able to parlay that emotion into an encounter with his own wife, hoping that would inspire the passion she claimed was missing within their marriage.

Just as O'Sullivan was helping Julia to sit down, a barmaid approached his table and asked what he would have to drink. Realizing that something as conspicuous as a Spruce Beer would mark him as different, and anything stronger would incapacitate him (something he didn't need), he ordered a draught beer, reassuring himself that if he drank it slowly, its effects would be minimal. The barmaid scowled at him. Drinking too slowly would get him attention as well – tables were for paying customers, not loitering.

As he glanced over to check on his wife, he noted that the conversation with an older man in his fifties with ruddy cheeks and bright blue eyes seemed to be going well. Julia was laying out what had happened and the man's eyebrows arched in response, occasionally shaking his head in anger and disbelief.

As he tried not to stare too intently at Julia and the businessman, he let his mind wander to what Julia had said earlier about him being bored with her and how insecure she seemed about it, which puzzled him. The truth of the matter was that it certainly couldn't be further from the truth, as she was still the most important thing in the world to him. But what about his behavior had led her to even think such an idea let alone allow it to consume her. Their relations had cooled somewhat with the sudden and all-consuming arrival of Roland, but wasn't that customary with the arrival of a baby? Then of course she'd been shot by Eva not all that long after losing Roland…. _And then the fire._ He shut his eyes tight at the awful memory, shuddering to recall how off balance Julia had been after Eva's death. He knew she worked so hard to get through all of it; given how painful and long her recovery had been, he liked to think that he was curbing his own desires and appetites to give her room to fully heal, but it appeared that she was fully recovered and ready to resume her normal life.

 _Perhaps what happened when you were alone with Eva is still affecting you more than care to admit._ His face reddened with shame when he thought of how Eva had touched him and how he had responded despite his revulsion at her actions. _It was an involuntary response, William. Julia's a physician, she would understand that,_ he reminded himself, but he still found himself loathe to discuss the matter with her. _It would only upset her,_ he quickly rationalized, taking a sip of his beer and looking around in an effort to think of something else.

Thankfully, a distraction soon materialized as a woman soon approached his table and asked if he'd like company. Taking her appearance in with a single glance, William saw a plump, black haired woman with an ample bosom and a brightly painted face, and he guessed that she must be no older than her mid-twenties and was clearly a doxy looking for her next client.

To maintain appearances, William nodded at the seat next to him and asked her what she would like to drink, motioning the barmaid over to take her order: a whiskey. She introduced herself as Becky, recently arrived from the mother country and William merely nodded while she made small talk.

By this time, Julia had noticed his companion, and while a part of him wanted to wink or give her a reassuring gesture that all was well, the part of him that was still angry prevailed, and decided to give her a taste of her own medicine.

 _I'm just playing a part, Julia. Don't be so upset. There's a reason men come here Julia, and it's not to keep an eye on their wives._

Her drink served, Becky gulped her drink down in a single swig, and scooted her chair closer to him, placing her hand high on his thigh and giving it a light squeeze. Laying her head on his shoulder, Becky ran her hand up his chest and toyed with his collar, murmuring something about taking the encounter next door. While Becky wasn't unattractive, she wasn't his beautiful wife, and unlike Julia, the only experiences he was interested in were with her in an entirely legitimate manner.

However, he wasn't ready to leave the bar just yet, so he ordered Becky another drink, encouraging her to take her time and enjoy the beverage. To get her to loosen her disconcerting grip on his person, he was inspired to show her some sleight of hand and close magic he'd picked up years ago from Mr. Houdini, pleased he could make his fingers nimble enough to pull a few of them off. Becky's peals of laughter rewarded his efforts and he joined in, heedless of drawing attention to himself in that way.

Looking around, William noted that Julia was wrapping her visit up, and that she had William sharply in her sights. Deciding that the place and time were perfect for a resolution, William concluded his display of prestidigitation to finally consent to Becky's suggestion to return to her room next door. He left to accompany her, knowing that Julia wouldn't be far behind.

As they stepped outside the double doors onto the street, William immediately turned around and pulled two dollars out of his pocket, having already decided that a story as close to the truth as possible was best. "Becky, I'm afraid that I'm not your typical client, in fact I'm really not interested in an assignation at all. But allow me to compensate you for your time and your silence on the matter," he replied, handing her the money. Her eyes widened to see such a large amount-far more than she typically made in a single night for a single encounter that would never happen.

"And before you think of robbing me, know that I don't have any more money on me, " he added. He'd already hidden the extra cash in his boot.

Becky nodded as she thanked him for his generosity and scurried down the street in search of another bar or client, and William heard angry footsteps coming up behind him.

There was no doubting the fury in her eyes as she stared at him, hands on her hips. "William," she hissed tersely, her eyes narrowing as she took in the mussed state of his clothes.

"Not here. Take me to your room," he whispered, pointing to the iron stairs running alongside the building. "Let them think I am your next customer."

Nodding sharply, she climbed up to the decrepit flop house next door and took him straight to her room, locking the door behind them. Once they were alone, she started to argue and he tried to offer an apology, both talking at once.

"How long have you been so bored by me, William?"

William was flummoxed. " _Bored_ ….by _you?_ That is ridiculous."

"You have only been looking at me as some broken, fragile thing. Ever since we had Roland, it has been so different between us. When did I stop being your lover? Your partner? When did you become more interested in some invention of yours or your work than in our marriage or me…?" She put her hand on her chest to emphasize her complaint. "You have taken me for granted, William—or looked at me only as a, what …wife? When did you get so absorbed in a case you stopped being aware of me, _me_ William?"

"Julia, that is unfair. My duty…." William defended himself, wondering guiltily if this all was really triggered by his not remembering she was going to Chicago, but she interrupted him before he could correct himself.

"…More interested in even some _soiled dove_ than in me?" Julia threw this last one at him, her eyes blazing.

William expected her to be jealous perhaps but not to attack him in this way, rendering him momentarily speechless in a wild-eyed stare at her. He noticed her flashing blue eyes, the high colour in her cheeks and the heaving of her chest as she glared back at him. "Nothing happened, Julia. I encouraged her actions to maintain pretense, as the role of respectable, virtuous married man was not going to help us here. Besides, if we're bored with one another, what's wrong with finding amusement with other people?" he replied, mimicking her previous words with his own eyes narrowing in anger, his gaze captured by her defiant posture. Even when he was upset with her, his appreciation of her was never dimmed. _My God, she is so beautiful!_

Uncharacteristically and for the second night in a row, she moved to slap him again. "How dare you, William Murdoch! Did you not hear me before? I want to know when I began to bore you, as I'm apparently no longer capable of inspiring passion within you it seems," she hissed.

William stayed her hand from hitting him, waging his strength against hers and not relenting as desire charged within him. "I believe it is _you_ who has become bored with _me_ , Julia. There's a reason I chose this place and the tavern next door. No one cares what we do here," he replied, pulling her to him again and kissing her intently. William did not hold himself back, not this time; in his haste the buttons on her dress popped and seams ripped.

While Julia struggled against him, the heat of her anger morphed into a flame of a different kind. Perhaps because he'd been so distant of late, along with the danger he'd faced, and maybe it was also the beard he now sported, but Julia was hungry for him and she soon found herself matching his fervor, her body melting in eagerness. The danger of the past week and the tension between them lent an air of urgency to their relations and rather than be passive (which she almost never was), Julia made quick work of his clothes as well, rendering him nude to her eyes.

Typically, they agreed who would dominate the other beforehand, and they often took turns in each role, but not tonight-equality was out of the window. With the bursts of adrenaline and the thrill of cheating death over the last week, they were dueling one another for control of the encounter.

"Another woman in our bed, William? Carrying on with a doxy within my line of sight?" She knew William delighted in her viewing him as _hers_ and exulted in being desired so much by her. Reminding him of this detail would bring him pleasure. "I thought you understood that I was the only woman you would entertain in such a manner so long as you live. Did you forget that you belong to me? That you had already given yourself to me?"

He gazed up at her, touching the red wig which was still clinging to her head, a wide grin on his face.

"Seems I have 'another woman' in my bed as it is, hmmmm…?" He smiled and closed his eyes in delight at her ministrations. When she stopped he opened his eyes—Julia was unpinning the red hair and flung it aside, a large grin on her face as well.

"And now I have yet another lover," he remarked, ruffling her short feathers of hair with his fingers. "I have heard it said variety is the spice of life," he teased.

"Poetry, William? You are quoting William Cowper." Julia returned her hand to his body to pleasure him. "No. You're mine, William Murdoch, and I have no intention of sharing, ever."

His voiced deepened with desire. "You know I would never betray you, Julia, correct? Perhaps you are all the variety and certainly all the excitement I shall ever need."

"I know you would never do such a thing, William. But I still enjoy being reminded of your loyalty," she stated as she stroked him.

"Oh yes, I assure you," he promised, as she leaned down for another kiss.

"William, how about you? Do I belong to you?" she asked.

"Oh, I wish it so. Yes," he murmured, his mind on alert to match his body's demand for release.

"Then, show me. Perhaps I want to be desired as much as I desire you," Julia entreated with low whisper.

He looked intently at her, and took her nod of encouragement as permission to have his way with her. Grabbing her hands and placing them on either side of her head, anticipating the explosive power of their union – _sodium and water indeed._

* * *

Neither William nor Julia wished to sleep a whole night in the narrow flophouse bed, yet it took a while for them to gather enough strength to leave after spending themselves so thoroughly. Julia's wig and dress were pretty much ruined for any immediate re-use so Julia wiped off as much of the makeup she could, dressed as Gideon, leaving ten minutes after William descended to the streets; two males leaving the rooms together would attract all the wrong sort of attention. The streets were sparsely travelled this time of night and there were no cabs, so the pair wended their way through the mild night air on foot, back to the Prince Albert in the guise of drunken men who tied one on. No one who saw them could have possibly connected these two disreputable figures smelling of beer and whiskey and holding each other up, with the abstemious Detective William Murdoch and his beautiful, firebrand wife.

Julia washed the rest of the paint and sweat off her face in the small bathroom, glad to feel a bit refreshed. William did the same and by the time he was finished, Julia was already asleep. He secured the door and fell into bed beside her, all thoughts about their predicament banished in the glow he felt in her arms with her scent all around him…


	16. Thursday Morning: The Morning After

**Thursday Morning**

William, who was up promptly at six o'clock every morning day in or day out with or without an alarm, had to be kissed awake from his slumber; this pleased his wife inordinately. Julia fetched the morning editions and breakfast while William washed and dressed, and she could have sworn he was humming when she returned from her errand.

Smiling in satisfaction about the state of her marriage in general and relations with her husband in particular, she sat on the bed and opened the _Gazette_ , raking the headlines with her eyes. Julia now viewed all headlines skeptically, doubt intruding into her appreciation of the underlying veracity of what was published. After several pages, one article stood out immediately, buried below the fold on the left hand side. She rose and knocked on the door. "Come see this!" she hollered through the door. "Alderman William Peyton Hubbard, member of the Toronto Board of Control, is asking for an investigation of several aspects of the rebuilding efforts."

William came into the room and joined her, offering her a kiss before summarizing what he read from the scant few column inches, dropping his voice. "He is questioning four issues and wants to invite public comment. Number one: the abrupt rise of fire insurance premium rates by nearly 75%. Number two: the process by which Toronto's new fire-safe by-laws, which specify certain building materials and methods to be used, was decided upon. Number three: why there were such large numbers of businesses and properties which went so rapidly into default and were sold at auction for pennies on the dollar. And finally number four: asking if there was enough competition between the companies who bid on and won new construction contracts. He is not out and out suggesting there was corruption in the process, but that it is the City Council and the Board of Control who should investigate any allegations of wrong-doing."

"Does he specify Franklin Williams or Robert Graham?" Julia looked over his shoulder.

"No. But I imagine it will get Mr. Graham's attention. Miss Pink must have given the Alderman an earful…."

"Indeed. I understand almost five thousand men and women lost their employment in the immediate aftermath of the fire, even if most of the businesses did move to new locations or rebuild. I believe there is enough general dissatisfaction with the restoration efforts that his questions will get some attention without it leading back to us," Julia agreed.

William nodded, pursing his lips. "Yes. Land speculators and construction companies certainly made their fortunes on the heels of the devastation, but other interests were losers in the bargain." He scanned the papers. "Still nothing about me or the constables. Nothing about Franklin Williams either. Do you suppose Mr. Meyers is putting pressure on the publishers?" he asked offhandedly.

Julia shrugged, and pointed back to the paper. "That story is obscurely enough placed, I wonder who they expect to read it, or if it will even survive the later editions."

"It will be interesting to see if it does; that can work in our favour ether way. Then there is the possibility the other papers will pick up on it as well." William paused, looking intently at his wife. "Do you think Mr. O'Sullivan will come through for you?"

"I certainly hope so," she said, a little alarmed by how the businessman was already aware William was not in Ottawa, but rather in Toronto with her. "What about Detective Watts? Do you think he has begun looking for evidence?" Julia came closer to him, adjusting his shirt with an overly-dramatic look on her face. "Wil… er, _Father._ I think you need to wear your kerchief under your collar today. You appear to have an odd bruise on your neck…"

"Hmmm, I wonder how those marks happened," he teased back, kissing the tip of her nose. "As for your question, its Llewellyn Watts, I'm quite certain he's already on it," he replied, squeezing her backside as she walked away.

Laughing, she shook her head. _It seems that like Meyers, William might think it a shame that more women don't wear trousers either._

* * *

After breakfast, William and Julia reluctantly decided they should abandon the hotel room well before noon, just to be safe, so used the remaining time to advantage.

"Julia, can you repair your wig?" William asked as he took up needle and thread. He set about replacing a few buttons on Julia's dress and stitching the seams; after all he was the one who did the damage, not to mention he was better at fabric repairs. "You will need it tonight at the Tipsy Ferret, unless you are going to meet Mr. O'Sullivan as Gideon."

Julia smiled and poked at him good-naturedly with her hairbrush. "I think a male persona would attract more comment. No, 'Miss Ruby' must make another appearance." Julia widened her eyes at William, daring him to comment on her _nom de guerre._

Wisely, he did no such thing.

They packed up and retrieved the wagon, making a calculation it kept their 'cover' to check on the delivery of farm equipment before meeting with Miss Pink, scheduled for St. Michael's.

* * *

Julia entered the Cathedral, performed a blessing and genuflected in the aisle just as William had instructed. The Mass was already started and the church held a scattering of the congregation _. Well, no one would ever suspect Julia Ogden of being amongst the faithful,_ she chuckled to herself, semi-surprised that the very church foundations did not shudder at her transgression. Today, dressed as a young man, she fit right in with the other parishioners. She had argued with William that he was still a wanted man and more likely to be recognized than she, so against his best judgment, she was tasked with meeting Winifred Pink.

Yesterday, before meeting Miss Pink, William entered the Dominion Bank to secure a safe deposit box for Mr. John White of the Rouge Valley in which to store all their notes, documents and the wax cylinder along with Julia's wedding rings and jewelry. The key for this box was buried in Queen's Park so that if either William or Julia was discovered there was no direct trail back to the bank vault; after all, that was how Chief Davis had been compromised.

Julia planned to reveal the key's location as an insurance policy of sorts, just in case the whole thing went wrong- at least the truth would be revealed one way or the other. She smiled as she saw Miss Pink in a side pew: rather than bowed in prayer, the woman could not help looking around at the decorations. Julia silently joined her in a seat one row behind.

"Thank you for coming," she whispered. Her voice had almost returned to normal and she pitched it low and soft. Miss Pink's hat bobbed in acknowledgement. A hymnal appeared over the back of the pew and Julia exchanged it for a slip of paper with instructions about locating the bank key, stuffed inside a missal.

"I found out that your assistant, Miss James, has been fired by the city and given up her lodgings in Toronto to move to Junction. She dropped out of her classes as well."

Julia accepted that news with misery. _One more person's life upended by this diabolical plot!_ If she was not in church she might have sworn out loud. Instead she strained to listen to Miss Pink over the sounds of the Mass.

"You two are right. I copied everything I could find—a nice new clerk found the supposedly mislaid paperwork and it gives you a perfect timeline and as a bonus includes the names of Mr. Graham's American investors. It also names Franklin Williams as an investor—clearly a conflict of interest." Miss Pink held up her missal so that the sound of her words did not travel far yet reflected so that Julia could hear. "I gave a copy to Alderman Hubbard this morning."

"This morning?" Julia wondered. "But the article in the Gazette…"

"Yes. I wondered about that too. Perhaps Mr. Graham has not covered his tracks as well as he believed, or the Alderman has another source…."

Julia withdrew an envelope from the hymnal and secured it inside her shirt. "Nothing on the Constables?"

"No." Miss Pink made no further commentary, paying attention only to the drone of Latin and the ringing of altar bells. Julia subsided into the pew until it was time for communion, when she lined up to receive it, then made a quick exit out to the street past a side chapel. No one seemed to notice a thoughtful young, red-haired man walking east on Shuter who was whistled up into the bench of a wagon.

William noticed his wife was preoccupied, and since carriage traffic as heavy, he waited until he turned the wagon towards Riverdale on their way out of the city, before speaking.

"So, Gideon, my son… How was Mass?" William asked, very seriously. He was uncertain about Julia's mood, unable to read her.

"Well, _Father_ , it was a revelation," she said lightly. Julia tried rousing herself with some humour, but failed. "I learned that without my patronage Miss James has been terminated and she has stopped her studies which is very distressing." A combination of outrage and guilt plagued her. "Miss Pink found nothing about the constables—that is extraordinarily odd." She took out her envelope and read the contents to William. In conclusion she told him: "Miss Pink believes the documents are definitive and damning; she also believes they will not last for long before being removed and destroyed, not merely waylaid."

"Then why are you not more pleased?" He asked.

"Because it was not she who alerted Alderman Hubbard. It seems someone else got there first. I wonder who? Do you suppose the Inspector?"

"Who, indeed." William stole a glance over his shoulder. "Did you see anyone suspicious in the church?"

"No, no one, although I am perhaps not the best person to weigh in on what a mid-day Mass is supposed to look and feel like." She offered a self-deprecating smile, winning one from William in return. "No one left directly after I did." She settled into her perch on the wagon bench for the ride out of town. Once on the road and alone, the pair allowed themselves to relax and discuss their situation. She and William decided 'John and Gideon White' needed to conduct a shopping session on the outskirts of town. This served two purposes: it allowed them to check to see if they were being followed in any way, and pass the time in each other's company with full privacy.

Taking advantage of that solitude, between them the couple tore the facts of the investigation apart as they rode into the countryside. William complained about entanglement with O'Sullivan, worried that by doing so they would be forever compromised. Julia countered with skepticism of Detective Watts, and worried over every detail until both had a headache. Well past the confines of the city, Julia directed them to an Inn for a late meal of bread and soup to take a break from it all. She tried not to laugh as William wiped his mouth and actually patted his belly in satisfaction after paying their bill.

He looked at her and shrugged, then fished out his pipe to complete the ensemble. "I think we should head back to the city. We can make a purchase, perhaps some of that furniture we saw a while back, and find new lodgings in Liberty Village close to the Massey-Harris plant: a perfect excuse for a pair of farmers on business, seeking agricultural equipment. It will also be outside of Station House No. 4's jurisdiction." William reasoned, waving the unlit pipe for emphasis.

She led him out of the Inn towards their horse and wagon. "What? I was hoping for the King Edward." Julia tried keeping a straight face.

William caught up with her, making sure they could not be overheard. "When we get our lives back, I will treat you to a weekend there," he added suggestively with a wiggle of his eyebrows. "Or, we may need to move there permanently—I cannot imagine the Windsor will welcome us back."

"Quite. It would take a bit of persuasion to convince me to sleep there again as well. Perhaps we can merely traipse from one hotel to another, you know, to try out the accommodations…" Julia flashed a smile and her blue eyes up at him. "I also like variety, you know."

Instead of joining her laughter, William thinned his lips, checking the horse, harnesses and wagon, then boarded. Julia guessed what he was thinking. As she swung up beside him, she said softly: "William, I must apologize. I accused you of being bored with me, when, in fact I have been jealous, I suppose you can call it, of some of your interests: your inventions, your bicycle…they absorb your attention."

"Julia! No, I…" William sputtered. "I thought we resolved this…" He was feeling whiplashed – alarmed by her words yet his wife seemed relaxed when delivering them.

Julia looked around her—they were perfectly alone. "I have absented myself from you, then accused you of lacking interest. I have been so wrong…" She surreptitiously let her hand wander down his thigh where it stalled provocatively.

William, for his part did not immediately object, relieved that no argument as brewing so he could exhale to enjoy a pleasant interaction. "Julia," he warned, "your requirement for a variety of experiences must not lead to this wagon going off the road." He softened his tone. "I have been wrong as well, wrong to make assumptions and wrong to hold back. I assumed that after all you have endured this past year, you were in a fragile state. I shouldn't have assumed, I should have asked. I shall endeavor to do better in the future. I think we both will."

"Agreed. First we have to assure ourselves _of_ a future." Julia removed her hand but the connection between them remained.

They rehashed the situation but came to no better conclusions, with William winding up their joint assessment. "I believe we must call Terrence Meyers now to hand over whatever we have collected to Mr. Meyers, if only to secure the documents."

This was because whatever was going to be further developed this evening, having Meyers back in Toronto as soon as possible was paramount, especially to preserve the critical paper trail from being expunged by Graham or his cronies. They also needed Meyers to cut whatever deals were necessary. William found it ironic he was feeling less sanguine about Detective Watts and O'Sullivan than that most irritating and difficult spy.

"Only if it clears your name, William. We cannot give up until then." Posing as his 'son' she could not give in to her urge to touch him for comfort and connection. "I will meet with Mr. O'Sullivan tonight and see what he has uncovered about Mr. Fergus and Mr. McFadden, perhaps enough to pressure something out of Chief Davis. You must give Detective Watts and Mr. O'Sullivan enough time."

William cleared his throat. "I cannot imagine two individuals more opposite in character." He gave Julia a sidelong glance. "Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "My fate rests with _them_?"


	17. Late Thursday: Dance With the Devil

**Chapter Eight**

 **Thursday Afternoon**

William and Julia huddled on one of the beds in their new lodgings, the small Chesterfield Park Hotel, chosen specifically because it possessed a room with a private telephone and a genuine private bath with a tub for Julia to soak in. All they could do for now was wait; the cable to Ottawa summoning Meyers had been sent hours ago and it was not yet time for Julia to meet Mr. Sullivan.

The couple poured over the newspapers after getting cleaned up. While no further mention had been made of the Alderman Hubbard's investigation in the evening paper, a brief article appeared on the front page announcing that Franklin Williams' funeral was scheduled for Saturday.

Julia was in touch with her ambivalence about Franklin Williams' demise, and exhaled as she put the page down to speak. "I hope I was not the direct cause of his death, William."

He sat closer to her, taking her hand and making sure his eyes and hers connected. "Julia, listen to me. You were literally fighting for your life. It was Franklin Williams' own actions which led directly to his fate. _He_ is the author of his own end, _only_ him. Your conscience in this can be clear, and my support for you is unwavering."

Julia accepted his words and kissed his hand which held hers tightly. "It's a damn shame I will not perform the autopsy myself. I doubt it was a carriage accident and I am most anxious to determine how Williams really died and if he was also dispatched on Mr. Graham's order."

"As am I." William asked. "How do you suppose will they cover it up?"

"I assume whoever it is would have to be hand- chosen to sign the death certificate; someone who can be bent to their will. William, it appalls me that all of this, _any of this_ can happen." She stood and brought her arms together in frustration. "I never thought of myself as naïve before, especially after all that you and I have been through…but really, it feels as if some larger, malevolent force is at work!"

Privately, William could not have agreed more. As clever and cold-blooded as Mr. Graham seemed to be, the whole thing spoke of a shrewd, calculating mind, full of depth and subtlety William was not certain Graham possessed. Still, he needed to be optimistic for her sake. "We shall prevail, Julia. I believe in the rule of law, the triumph of faith and truth over evil." He looked at her, kissing her knuckles. "We must be patient."

Still full from their wonderful lunch, they ate a simple meal of bread and cheese for dinner in their room, then after turning out the lights, the two contented themselves to hold and kiss one another until it was time for Julia to get ready for her meeting with O'Sullivan at the Tipsy Ferret.

Though he'd wanted to go with her once again, Julia argued that they couldn't risk O'Sullivan seeing the same man in her vicinity two nights in a row and become suspicious. She reminded William that he was still very much a wanted man and that Meyers wouldn't be able to get him out of jail again. She did not mention that she had accidentally given his identity away last night.

 _Meyers was wrong. I'd make a terrible spy._

Begrudgingly he agreed while she stepped out dressed as Gideon, her alter-ego of 'Ruby' tucked away in a carpet bag to be used for the rendezvous with O'Sullivan. William remained in the room, read and prayed when he was not pacing the small space.

Just past midnight, Julia returned in her male garb, and William was immediately reassured at the mere sight of her.

"Did everything go as planned?" he asked, taking her in his arms and kissing her in relief.

"Yes, I met O'Sullivan and together with some of his men we went to the Asylum and snuck Davis out. I checked the notes and the last time any drugs were administered was at 6:30 pm, and I did not give him any more. He should be awake or very close to it and able to talk to you when you arrive. He's strapped down to a bed and he's in an inner room that's well insulated within a warehouse down at the docks. Even if he yells, O'Sullivan assures me no one will hear him," she explained, handing him a key and a sheet of paper with the warehouse's address.

"And Fergus and McFadden? Did he locate them and get anything we can use?"

Julia paused, knowing William would not really want to hear about O'Sullivan's methods. "Mr. O'Sullivan did not want to tell me anything specific, but he did tell me that those two will be made available for testimony to the authorities, implicating Franklin Williams and Robert Graham in Edward Dobbs' death and my kidnapping, as long as a deal of some kind is offered. That will take getting the Crown Prosecutor to agree, I assume, unless Mr. Meyers can offer something better."

"All right, I'll take it from here. Julia, I want you to assure me that you'll stay right here while I'm gone. I should only be gone a few hours **.** However, if you don't hear from me, and if I don't return before seven the morning, you are to assume that something has happened to me, and I need you to contact Terrence Meyers. He will be able to get you to safety, and he's promised me that he will if anything were to happen to me. Promise me, Julia," he pleaded, looking into her eyes and clutching at her shoulders.

"William?" Julia asked, her face immediately etched with concern.

"I assure you I will be careful and I will endeavor to come back for you. We will celebrate when this is all over and I will take you to the King Edward for a luxurious weekend yet, Mrs. Murdoch," he promised.

Julia offered nothing in return and merely buried her face in his chest, the enormity of what he was about to undertake truly hitting her.

* * *

 **The Wee Hours of Friday**

Somewhere in the very dark of night, William stealthily walked through the dockyards and to the warehouse he'd been told about. There on a gurney next to a walk-in cooler, just as O'Sullivan had promised Julia, was none other than Jeffrey Davis. William strode in and stared down at the man's sunken face, contemplating his interactions with Davis over the years and contrasted it with the man before him. His large form looked a wreck, pale with matted grey hair and still strapped to the bed, but since it had been hours since he'd last been drugged Davis was starting to gain consciousness. He almost felt sorry for the man…almost.

William carefully prepared for his interrogation using what he brought with him, making sure all the connections inside the cooler were in place, then began: "Good Evening, Mr. Davis, I trust you've been enjoying the chance to recuperate from your wounds and heal," William asked politely, as he rolled the mobile bed over into the walk-in refrigeration room and put the overhead light on. "We need to talk about your role in corruption, murder and conspiracy to commit treason," he mentioned matter-of-factly.

The jostling over the threshold caused Davis' shoulder to get bumped and he moaned in pain. "Murdoch! Are you out of your mind? That bitch shot me!" Davis whined. "I've been kidnapped-those other harpies took me and kept me prisoner! Get me out of here!"

"Watch your mouth!" William snapped. "Those _ladies_ left you alive, something I might not have bothered with!" William noticed Davis flinch and struggle with his bonds. _Trapped like the rat you are,_ William thought to himself.

Davis said nothing else but looked at him with wild eyes, hatred clearly evident.

William adjusted the gurney just so and studied the room. "These walls are very well insulated you know. No one will overhear our conversation, so you might as well begin." His prisoner remained silent. With a low chuckle, William shook his head. "Not willing to talk just yet, Davis?" William asked, refusing to use the man's title or any other polite discourse with the man. "Take your time, but I wanted you to be aware that rumor has it that Mr. Graham is looking for you so that he can kill you just as he did Franklin Williams. And just in case you think I might be lying," William stated, "Allow me to show you this." He held up a copy of the newspaper which announced Williams' funeral.

Davis' eyes grew wider as he quietly read the headline, but he remained silent.

"Mr. Williams had already served his purpose as I believe have you, Davis. Mr. Graham has what he wanted, and quite frankly, you of all people should appreciate that you're a loose end and that you know too much. You're a threat, and we know how Robert Graham feels about those." William studied his quarry. "Oddly enough it is me who is actually offering to help you out, but only if you act now!" He checked his watch. "I make it about a quarter hour, perhaps twenty minutes, tops, before Mr. Grier…oh you remember him do you not? Just a few minutes before Mr. Grier and his associates get here."

Using Grier's name would give authenticity to the gambit. William left the bluff hanging in the air as he made his way out of the cooler, leaving the door open. Behind him, Davis started struggling against his bonds and cursing, a sour, mocking look on his face and in his words. "Bastard! You really think you're something, don't you? As if you have never gotten your hands dirty, too good for real work?" he sneered.

Shaking his head, William kept walking deliberately away, deciding not to even dignify the question with a response.

But Davis was not deterred, his voice rising with sarcasm. "There you are, a pious papist, confident that you're better than me and so many others you've dealt with over the years when you fail to acknowledge that perhaps you've just been more fortunate. Some of us haven't had the fancy monk education, or been born with your pretty-boy looks. Why pay for a whore when there isn't a woman in this city who wouldn't give it to you for free, eh Murdoch? Why you never appeared to take advantage of that, I couldn't fathom," he scoffed, "or were you merely more discrete than most?"

William said nothing, but waited for more, which he sensed was coming. He'd interviewed enough suspects over the years to recognize when one of them was making a desperate attempt to turn the topic away from his own crimes—denying, deflecting, minimizing, blaming others or trying to make himself out to be the real victim. Davis was only trying to rattle him.

"You know the other officers talk about you behind you back, Murdoch? You and your holier-than-thou attitude and no sense of humour; you are not the most well-beloved officer in the constabulary. The whispers are not so very flattering. I often speculated about what secrets you are hiding behind that choir-boy façade and oh-so punctilious manner. Sometimes I even wondered if you weren't a sodomite, perhaps granting sexual favors to Percival Giles. I actually set out to prove it but I never could…" Davis trailed off, reconsidering his angle of attack. "No, I'd wager there were plenty of bored toff ladies willing to pay you for stud services, and no surprise, your odd, unconventional wife was one of them. You don't have to hustle and bend the rules to provide for your family because you're a kept man. You don't need to be on the take because the wife has more money in one bank account than you'll ever make in your life. A woman like that—too tall, too smart for her own good, too sharp-tongued and stubborn; a woman cutting up bodies, prying into people's minds—hardly feminine occupations. She'd have to entice a lover in some other way, now wouldn't she? Your missus provides for you so I wonder—does she get her money's worth between the sheets?" Davis' face was purple while his mouth twisted in a grimace to deliver his next filthy salvo.

"Or maybe I was right the first time, Murdoch. What _is_ the reason you and she don't have any children? Perhaps you have a marriage of convenience for you _both_ to hide unnatural perversions?" Davis was shouting now.

Feeling his bile rise at the man's obscene innuendo, William answered Davis in precisely measured words. "It seems that you don't know me at all, Davis. Unlike you, prostituting yourself out to the highest bidder, I earned my position honestly, through great sacrifice and hard work. As for my wife and I, we enjoy mutual respect and honour, and we freely chose one another based on love and equality. Perhaps if you didn't view women as creatures to be conquered you too might have found a woman who would stay with you for better or worse. But instead, you created a lifestyle above your means, and now you sold yourself, _gave it up,_ as it were, to whichever man offered you the most money for completing tasks that are an anathema to the oath you swore as an officer of the law." He checked his watch. "Your time is running out. Decide."

Exiting out into the main part of the warehouse, William sat down out of Davis' line of sight and waited with his heart pounding and for his hands to stop trembling. Calmly accepting Davis' vile torment was a necessary evil for the greater purpose of ending their nightmare, but it enraged him nonetheless. What was worse was the guilt he felt, the knowledge that he'd been the one to set this all in motion He could not fool himself into thinking that he'd lost everything through no fault of his own. He balled his fists and hit them against a doorframe, letting the physical pain counter his mental agony. _Dear Lord, This has to work!_ he back against the wall, he closed his eyes and urged the heavens to make Davis ask for him soon. He just wanted to rest, wanted his life back.

A minute slowly crawled by, then two, before he heard Davis' voice shout out: "Murdoch! All right, Murdoch, get back in here. What do you want? Power? Position? I have influence. Maybe get your job back, or that Inspector position I know you have coveted for years." Davis tried to negotiate.

Steeling himself for another confrontation, William walked back into the room. He placed himself in Davis' view and remained silent, watching the emotions on the other man's face until fear shown through the defiance and bargaining. _Got him,_ he crowed to himself. _Now I have about four minutes…_ he thought, feeling stronger now he was in command of himself and the situation.

"What do I want, Davis? Well, I suppose I do want a few things, but probably not what you think. I don't want power, or corrupt favours, nor do I want anything else sordid. I already know that Franklin Williams killed Edward Dobbs on orders of Robert Graham, and that you, Williams and Graham were involved in the kidnapping of my wife," William stated flatly. "I know you have been taking bribes and indulging in a little blackmail on the side while you were with the constabulary and continued while you were in the records office. I know you arranged paperwork in the records office to benefit Graham and Councilor Williams and were paid for your troubles by being reinstated as Chief Constable."

"I admit to nothing!"

William was not surprised, but he was privately disappointed. "Oh, Mr. Davis. You don't have to admit to anything. I already have proof of your activities and everything I just mentioned. I know that Mr. Graham ordered Lydia Halls' death as well. What I want from you is who actually did the deed."

"What do I get from this?" Davis asked. As always, looking out for himself.

"Did you not hear me? Graham is looking for you so that he can kill you and Mr. Grier is on his way. Do you really have anything more of value to offer him now? You've served your purpose and done what he wanted, you're a liability now," William reminded him. "He'll find another ambitious man to take the position of Chief Constable and who will look the other way when it comes to Graham's illegal activities. He'll also have the benefit of not knowing what Graham has done so far to get to where he is, and when the time comes, don't think for a moment that this new Chief Constable won't be done away with either. I've seen your notes on the man, I know what you have, and you have a lot. Yes, all of it. I paid a visit to your house and using the keys that were on you the night you were shot, I opened the safe right above your bed, so I've seen it all," William told the man.

Davis gasped when William told him the last bit, but said nothing.

"But alas, Graham still has more money and connections than you. All he has to do is pay the right person the right price and you cease to be a problem for him, just like Franklin Williams, Edward Dobbs and even poor Lydia Hall. So Davis, what you get from this is to live. I'll ask the prosecutor to spare your life in exchange for your testimony against Franklin Williams and Robert Graham about the murders, corruption in those land deals, and you may even get out of conspiracy to commit treason. " William stared coldly, unblinking.

"You're a wanted man yourself, Murdoch. You're not in any position to offer deals if you're still looking to get your own name cleared."

"Well, obviously that is part of what I need from you. As for how I can offer you such things, I am in contact with Alderman Hubbard and the mayor. Once they are told what you have to offer, they will make sure the Crown Prosecutor understands. Unless you prefer to take your chances with the Dominion Police for the charge of treason?" William checked his watch, gratified at how intently Davis followed his hand as he did so, and the trickle of sweat down the man's face. "You have eleven minutes before Mr. Grier arrives. Do I get my information or do I walk away?"

Davis was silent for a moment before laughing wretchedly and shaking his head. He knew he was had dead to rights.

 _Finally!_ William reached behind Davis' head as if he was adjusting the gurney, flicked the recording switch to 'on' and waited.

"All right, Murdoch. You may have proof I am corrupt, pressured people or took bribes, but I have never committed treason and I have not murdered anyone. You are exactly right: Robert Graham ordered Franklin Williams to kill Edward Dobbs as a way of eliminating that labour rabble rouser and getting another hold over Williams. Williams complained about it to me afterwards, the stupid fool! Graham got Fergus and McFadden to cover it up, I imagine. It certainly wasn't me who killed Lydia Hall and even you have to admit all the evidence points to you! I believe it was Williams who killed her, or maybe Fergus and McFadden at his behest, but I don't know for sure." He shifted. "Only Mr. Graham knows would be my guess. He keep secrets and likes to play one person against another."

 _Then who did?_ William thought to himself in frustration. _If it's not Fergus and McFadden, it had to have been Williams himself, but how did he do it all by himself?_

Disappointed that he couldn't yet clear his name, William swallowed hard and controlled his face to remain passive and devoid of emotion. But looking at the man with his bandaged shoulder, he remembered how the man got his wound. What did he know about Julia and that house?

"You claim you're no murderer, yet you tried to kill Inspector Brackenreid. Was that your idea on your own or did Graham send you to be his errand boy?"

"Brackenreid was just there, in the way. Besides I never pulled the trigger, I was shot first!"

William ignore the complaint. "Why did you go there in the first place to a house where my wife was being held hostage? Obviously because you were told to, but do you know why you were there? Was it to clean up her murder scene?" William asked angrily.

Davis was silent. William tapped his watch.

"I knew she was being held captive, but Graham wanted to use her as collateral against you to make you confess to Lydia Hall's murder, something I told him that you wouldn't do otherwise," Davis begrudgingly admitted. "Franklin Williams was supposed to take care of her, move her to another warehouse to hold over you for leverage. You needed to take the fall for that girl's death and by pleading guilty there would be no trial and your investigation into the Dobbs' death and the whole redevelopment scheme would go away. My job was to clean up after them." He snorted. "You got too good at your job, Murdoch. Now everyone knows about fingermarks and trace evidence. I was there to make sure there was nothing to tie your wife or Graham or Williams together."

"So, kidnapping her was your idea?" William asked with more feeling than he intended.

Davis went silent and looked down, an angry, sullen expression on his face after realizing he'd made a disastrous slip up. Time was running out. William knew that he would get no other response on the matter without a prompt, so he got up and began checking Davis' restraints and putting things away as if he was leaving.

Thinking Murdoch was going to abandon him made Davis extremely nervous. "All right, Murdoch! Yes! Yes! I admit to that idea as well. If I get immunity I'll tell all, provided you get me out of here and away from Grier." Davis replied defeatedly.

William had placed himself so he could watch the cylinder spool. He reached over and turned the device off. He held up the Edison machine to Davis, saying, "Thank you. That will do," while Davis sputtered.

"What is that? What have you done?" Davis jerked desperately at his restraints, sending the bed wiggling in the cooler's space.

Looking carefully at Davis, still so arrogant and sure of himself despite his position, William smiled. "Fallen for a recording, again. You would think you'd have learned better after our last encounter." William gazed down and smiled. "It occurs to me I do not really need you as long as I have this."

"No. _No!_ " Davis yelled, a horror stricken look blooming on his face. "You can't leave me here! Take me with you! You have to protect me. You will never get cleared without me! Don't leave me, Murdoch… _.Murdoch!_ "


	18. Early Friday: The Trap is Set

As he secured the warehouse behind him, William heard the faint buzz of a small, motorized vehicle nearby, but chose to not pay it any mind. As tempting as it would have been to actually tip Graham to Davis' location, he had to force himself to remember the bigger picture and seek his exoneration through other means. _Giving Jeffrey Davis some awful moments believing assassins were on their way would have to suffice as a bonus._

Leaving the docks and returning to Yonge St., William stopped at a nearby telephone exchange where he decided to place a call to Julia that he was on his way back to the hotel. Only no one picked up the phone, and William's mind immediately began to race.

 _Surely she's not sleeping, she seemed most anxious when I left,_ he thought to himself when it hit him, Julia had not kept her promise to stay in their room at the Chesterfield. No doubt she had come out to assist him in any possible way.

 _Leaving the exchange in a fit of worry as well as anger,_ William walked along Yonge Street, his mind over-brimming with concerns about Julia's safety, anger that she hadn't done as she promised, and frustration that other than beyond overhearing a mere snippet of conversation, Davis did not know who killed Lydia Hall with any degree of certainty.

Again hearing the annoying buzz of the small motor vehicle, William assumed that it must be a motorcycle, and wondered if there wouldn't soon be an ordinance banning the contraptions during late hours, as it could truly be a nuisance. Catching his train of thought, he forced his mind back to the pressing matters at hand. Fergus and McFadden swore they hadn't killed Miss Hall, and Davis wasn't sure who did either, he still lacked anything that would exonerate himself, as the assumed killer Franklin Williams, was dead.

 _Also, where in God's creation has my wife gone? Why can't she take my concerns for her safety seriously just once and heed my warning!_

Continuing to walk up Yonge a few more blocks, he heard footsteps behind him and a quick glance saw that it was a pair of constables making his rounds. William walked a little faster in response, not stopping to see who they were in the fear that he might be recognized. A few moments later, another constable rounded the corner and began walking towards him with a purpose.

William's heart quickened and he pulled his hat down further in hopes that identifying him would be made more difficult.

 _Just stay calm, William. He's probably just going to ask you what your business is at this hour._

Again he heard the buzz of the motorcycle, this time approaching ever closer, and soon it rounded the corner behind one of the constables and drove past him towards William.

"There you are, father. I was worried that you weren't home yet. Hop on, and we'll go home," the rider said.

It was Julia!

But now was not the time for questions, and William straddled the back fender as Julia sped off.

"Hey, come back!" the constable shouted behind them, but Julia merely gunned the motor more in response. William heard him blow his whistle to alert other constables, and he clutched at his wife that much harder.

 _She's going to go down with me! She'll be charged with aiding and abetting an escaped, suspected murderer! There's no denying it!_

Though the motorized bike was faster than the constables chasing them on foot, the motor was not powerful enough to leave them far behind with two on board. Plus, one officer had found a bicycle somewhere and was quickly gaining on them.

 _Great!_ _Now_ _the constabulary adopts the bicycle for transportation!_ William was contemplating that irony and considered jumping off the back of the motorcycle to allow Julia to speed away to safety with the recording, when she seemingly read his thoughts.

"Don't you dare, William Murdoch! I will stop this cycle and wait to be captured with you," she threatened.

Turning a corner onto Queen Street, William blessed himself and hoped that they would miraculously evade capture as she quickly turned down an alley before popping out onto Jarvis. As they were approaching posh Rosedale, Julia turned left onto Bloor Street in a roundabout way to go back to the Chesterfield, turning to look behind him, William noted that the constables were no longer within eyesight, but they had undoubtedly called for backup by this point and William knew that while their motorcycle gave them the advantage of speed, it also proved a disadvantage in that it was particularly noteworthy and that they should abandon it soon.

Unfortunately that dilemma was soon solved for him when they turned back onto Yonge and there, waiting for them, was a quartet of officers with weapons drawn. Julia stopped the bike at once.

"Oy, step away from that damnable contraption and put your hands up if you know what's good for you," a familiar Yorkshire accent bellowed.

"Inspector Brackenreid?" William couldn't stop himself from asking the obvious.

Recognizing the man before him despite his disguise, Brackenreid shook his head in disbelief. "Bloody Hell!" Turning to Julia, "And just who in blazes are you?" he asked, squinting in concentration.

"Good evening, Inspector. I must admit this is a surprise," Julia replied with a laugh as the man's eyes widened with surprise.

"Oh, Christ," the man swore in response.

* * *

A borrowed carriage lantern was the only illumination, throwing shadows against the unfinished angles of the space and over a small bowl of apples apparently left over from a workman's dinner. Inspector Brackenreid, Detective Murdoch and Dr. Ogden sat with Terrence Meyers at a small table inside an empty building still under construction. They were arrayed as if they were about to start an evening of seriously competitive poker, each face studying the others' closely and giving nothing of themselves away.

 _Perhaps we are,_ the spy privately acknowledged, knowing that poker was the game he excelled at. _Gambling_ _certainly: the stakes could not be higher._

Narrowing his eyes, Meyers saw that his three companions were at odds, usually a good sign in a card game, but he was not so sure that was going to work in his favour in this particular instance. His operatives, Andrews and Stanton along with Grier, had rather easily scooped up the men pursuing William and Julia's motorcycle—it gave the Dominion officers something else to do while the four of them conferred; he surreptitiously checked the time and calculated how long before the workmen would be here to begin their day.

Meyers was trying to hide his general impatience with Murdoch. Despite a rough appearance, rather than being happy or at least relieved to be in the relative safety of a protective, armed escort and no longer in fear for his life, the Detective was decidedly closed-mouthed and stiff.

 _Even more than usual, if that were possible,_ Meyers observed to himself, and decided he was offended by the man's lack of gratitude. He adopted an overly innocent expression, trying hard not to let his irritation show as it is always better to keep one's opponent guessing; even more so one's allies.

"Cat got your tongue, Murdoch?" he threw, gesticulating with his cigar. "I would have thought you'd be glad to see me and your Inspector here." Instead of glowering in Murdoch's direction, he addressed the man's wife with a slight bow. "Doctor, I am impressed at your disguise. It is hard to hide a beautiful woman, but you have succeeded. Brava!" He thought his smile was charming enough—however it had no effect on the missus any more than it did on her husband, leading Meyers to believe that there was a hiccup in his well laid plans. He decided to bully forward anyway, turning back to the Detective with his opening bet.

"Well, Murdoch, you called me back to Toronto and here I am by special train. I seem to have taken care of one more problem for you—we will keep those men who were after you under wraps for a few days." He leaned forward. "Now it is your turn: give me the evidence I need regarding political corruption in Toronto and the proof I need about threats to Canadian sovereignty."

When letting the expectant silence build did not produce any answer, Meyers sighed dramatically and rose. "Perhaps you need a moment?" he asked with a quirk of his eyebrows. "Brackenreid? Doctor? Talk to him will you?" Meyers took in the closed face of the Detective and decided on his second bet. "Just remember, Murdoch, your country needs you; you will either help me break the conspiracy wide open or you will get charged as an accessory." He winked: "Nothing personal…"

Even that jab did not produce a reaction. _Interesting. It's almost like they know something…._

Meyers slowly moved away from the table and out a narrow door, wishing he'd been able to set up eavesdropping equipment because that conversation was going to be extraordinary…

* * *

"Inspector, what are you doing here?" William asked in an urgent tone as soon as they were alone. "It is not wise for you to return yet!"

Brackenreid guffawed, pulling his woolen cap brim down. "Saving your bacon I suppose, and by the way you're welcome very much. Decided to upgrade from a regular bicycle have we?" He eyed the good doctor and ticked his head back and forth in disbelief at her disguise and prowess on a motorbike. His good humour faded quickly though, tone shifting again to the serious. "My own conscience would not let me sit this one out. I called in a few favours and managed to connect with our slippery friend there." The Inspector pointed a thumb towards the door as he explained. "Meyers seemed to think that looking for you down at the docks was a good idea—something that fellow of his, Grier, mentioned. We were on our way and just ran into you by happenstance."

Julia put a hand on her husband's arm. "Thank you, indeed Inspector, but I agree it is not safe for you to have resurfaced, even in the company of Canadian security."

"I'm a grown man, doctor. I can decide for myself," he argued at Julia before turning back to William. "My principles tell me this is right, Murdoch, er…especially after I took that shot at you…"

Julia gasped and bolted upwards. "Shot?! _You_ took a shot at him? _He_ took a shot at you!" She glared at both men, outraged at the admission and with William who had said nothing about that to her.

William's own mouth flapped open in surprise then he covered quickly to reassure his wife while giving Brackenreid a nervous sideways glance. "Well, if he'd meant to kill me I'd be dead now, wouldn't I? The Inspector knows how to handle a rifle from his Army days."

"Exactly," Brackenreid exhaled in relief Murdoch was apparently letting him off the hook, even as his face reddened in embarrassment.

"Inspector! What were you thinking?" Julia cried angrily, her arms on her hips, un-mollified by how calmly these two men were handling the matter.

"That bloody Franklin Williams had me out trying to hunt you down as if he was running the whole show… and I had to give him one. "

"Yes, I understand, Inspector." William tried to settle Julia down by giving her one of his best smiles, but it did not stay on his face very long. "You were pressured from the very top, just like in Alderman Hidell's assassination; as you recall, it was Alderman Ketchum as head of the Board of Control who approved all city contracts; Franklin Williams tried the same thing with the Melinda Street redevelopment."

Brackenreid was grateful to get the topic off his aiming a gun at his detective. "Have you not got this sorted out yet? Meyers believes you have the proof, isn't that is why you called him back to Toronto…?"

William cut him off. "Sir, we believe we have neutralized Chief Davis and have the proof Mr. Meyers needs of American interference in Jeffrey Williams' election to the Board of Control and an American conspiracy to secretly buy Canadian real-estate, all orchestrated by Robert Graham with help from the Black Hand," he frowned. "Hopefully Detective Watts has obtained some physical evidence corroborating Lydia Hall's witness statements about Mr. Dobbs' murder by Councilor Williams on orders from Robert Graham, which we now believe took place at the Bacchus Club." He quickly whispered an outline of what he and Julia had discovered so far, praying Meyers and his men were not listening in.

Julia finished her husband's thought. "The problem is, Inspector, we have no witness other than a wax recording of Robert Graham telling Franklin Williams to 'take care' of Mr. Dobbs, and no physical evidence definitely linking Mr. Dobbs' murder as being ordered by Robert Graham, beyond Lydia Hall's word in her verbal statement to William."

"Nor prove my innocence in her death. Certainly nothing compelling enough for a judge or the crown prosecutor. We still do not know exactly who did kill Miss Hall other than speciation from Chief Davis. In addition, Franklin Williams is dead as well. We have to secure written confessions from Davis and furthermore from Mr. McFadden and Mr. Fergus, tying Davis to Williams to Graham."

"Again, none of which gets you off the hook for Miss Hall's death," the Inspector said with anger.

William agreed. "Not specifically. Chief Davis has information about why Julia was taken- to pressure me into confessing. It casts reasonable doubt on my guilt since someone else had more motive than I did for her death, but that is all. The physical evidence ties me to her death and does nothing to exonerate me. Without that, your actions have no justification either—you are a ruined man as well for helping me."

The Inspector thought about it, obviously weighing the information. "I think you should tell Meyers everything, Murdoch. I know it is hard to trust the bastard but what other play do you have?" Brackenreid counseled. "His threat is to charge you with treason real: Not turning over evidence he wants can get you charged as an accessory after the fact."

"This is not the first time he has threatened to charge me with treason…" William objected.

"Yes. But that is a crime you might actually commit this time! So horse-trade with him. You get him to put pressure on the constabulary to focus the investigation into Lydia Hall's death elsewhere and re-open the case with a new list of suspects, which gets _your_ name out of the papers."

"But Inspector, you know as well as I that won't clear _your_ name," Julia warned. "You have sacrificed so much already, we really cannot ask you to settle."

"Bollocks! I am not facing the noose, to put it bluntly," he said, looking the doctor straight in the eye. Brackenreid had this discussion with Margaret as well—She had supported him in attempting to clear Murdoch's name, even at the risk of himself never being reinstated with the Constabulary. "Once Graham and Davis are cleared out along with the Black Hand, my family is at least safe. Any road, you two cannot keep running. Turn whatever you have over to Meyers and make a deal. That way your wife and I cannot be charged with kidnapping Jeffrey Davis and she can plead self-defense in stabbing Franklin Williams if it comes to that."

William stood and rubbed his forehead. "There is something larger going on here-I can almost see it, but it eludes me! You are right though, Inspector—but I cannot trust Meyers, not completely. How did he or Grier actually know we were down by the docks?" He crossed his arms in frustration. "We still do not know what 'official' story about all of this will be in the press either. Unless we know the complete truth, how can we be sure this will really end?"

Brackenreid nodded, fiddling with an apple. "At this point the cover up is worse than the crime, eh?" He bit into the fruit with a crunch. "Make a deal with Meyers so you can stop running and solve this case the way it should be solved. With Davis out of the way and no longer running interference, Detective Watts can take over Lydia Hall's murder investigation and get you off the suspect list."

Julia considered both men in front of her. She had railed at William for his incessant need, nay _obsession_ with finding answers, to the detriment of others on more than one occasion. The idea this nightmare would be over was seductive and she was chary about putting themselves or anyone else into more danger. "William? Perhaps the Inspector is right. You said yourself it is impossible to prove your innocence from a jail cell, but that seems equally impossible as a fugitive."

The three of them jumped a tad as the room's door banged open and Terrance Meyers entered, preceded by a waft of cigar smoke. Meyers' characteristically smug voice greeted. "Well, Murdoch. Are you going to do what you need to do for your country?"

All eyes were on William, and he felt their gaze keenly, burdened by the intensity of the moment. He thoroughly searched his conscience and sent a prayer heavenward before he answered:

"No."


	19. Early Friday: A Deal With Another Devil

Julia and the Inspector drew in simultaneous breaths; she looked at Brackenreid and then her husband in disbelief.

"I beg your pardon?" Meyers asked. His face remained passive but his pulse bounced at his temple.

William's own heart was pounding and his palms slicked with sweat. It took every ounce of strength to remain outwardly calm. "I said no," he answered with a steady voice. "First, I want an agreement in writing, from the government, exonerating Inspector Brackenreid, his wife and mine from any criminal or civil or any other charges resulting from this matter."

Meyers blinked. "My duty is to protect the safety of Canada from those who would attack it. I am not authorized…"

William was pleased that Meyers was temporizing. This felt much more like an interrogation in which he possessed the mastery. "That's been part of the problem, hasn't it?" William guessed, gathering the facts, building a case with his mind sorting the disparate pieces of information. William was no longer going to play Meyers' game of poker. This was chess now and he believed he was several moves ahead of his opponent.

"Mr. Graham wanted something from me. You want something from me. I said 'no' which caused a problem for both of you." William paused for emphasis. "I wonder why?"

When Meyers did not respond, he went on, darting his gaze briefly at Julia, who was clearly unhappy at where this was going. "I want to know something. You said that you were convinced that you knew I was innocent of Lydia Hall's death. How do you possibly know? And spare us all the bit about my good character, we all know that means nothing to you. No, you have something more concrete than that. I want to know what it is," William leveled.

"I told you that I couldn't divulge my sources or share my information, but that you'd have to do it yourself," the man replied, flicking cigar ash casually on the floor.

"Well, that's the crux of the problem Mr. Meyers. I have all the information you need proving the intrigue, the land deal collusion and conspiracy, Mr. Dobb's murder, potentially treasonous connections to American money and crime and such, but it seems no one is certain who killed Miss Hall. Mr. Graham was determined that I confess to it—why? Why was a confession so important they would kidnap Julia, remove the Inspector and gun down those who sought to help me…?"

William stood and motioned with his hands, one by one his thoughts finally coming together like puzzle pieces locking up tight. "Davis suspects it might be Fergus, McFadden, or even Franklin Williams who killed Miss Hall, and apparently those two believed it to be either Davis or Williams. Each is quite certain that it was ordered at Graham's behest, but they doubt that the man actually did it himself. That leaves us with Franklin Williams as a likely suspect, but with his most inopportune carriage accident, we'll never get a confession from him, now will we." William's tone was harsh as he leaned forward over the seated spy. "Exactly what have you _not_ been authorized to do, Mr. Meyers? How do I know that _you_ didn't kill Franklin Williams? Or Lydia Hall for that matter because she was going to spill the beans as it were on your operation?" William let that question hang starkly, coldly in the air. _Check._

Julia and Brackenreid stood behind Meyers, both obviously stunned at the accusation.

"If I turn over all of the information to you, perhaps your goal all along was to have me do all of your dirty work, and like Davis, Williams et al, now that I've served my purpose, it's time to have me removed. How do I know you will not threaten my wife or the Inspector—do the same to them? Then, you have no witness as to what lines you have crossed, the games you have played or how you have potentially enriched yourself all under the guise of national security," he continued relentlessly, while Julia gasped and lurched forward to intervene. Brackenreid held her back.

William ignored her for the moment and pushed on. "As a matter of fact, when I am brought to trial I think my attorney can offer an alternative theory of the crime in which you figure prominently."

"William! Have you lost your damned mind! How could you?" Julia asked angrily, wrenching her arm away from the Inspector.

William bore into Meyers' eyes, but felt he needed to address his wife. He didn't know which stung more: Julia's anger or her lack of faith in him, but he forced the thought aside as this wasn't the time and took a deep breath, calmly explaining his rationale.

"Julia, I am so, very, very sorry for all this has cost you. But, I will not hand everything over to this man and still be executed for a murder I did not commit, or charged with treason and have it all hang over you and the Inspector. I will not aid him in this manner." He shifted his gaze to plead with her, hoping to communicate so much with only a look. _If this gambit doesn't work, it will be one of the last conversations I'll ever have with her._

"My conscience tells me where the shame will lie if I let evil happen because I am unwilling to fight it or too fearful of the consequences," he ended quietly, still locked on Meyers.

Out of the corner of his eye William saw Brackenreid nodding, realization dawning in his superior's pale blue eyes. The Inspector cleared his throat and came forward.

Looking straight into William's face, he apologized. "I am sorry, me' old Mucker. I should have taken Davis out last year when I had the chance and should have smelled a bigger rat with little Franklin Williams being involved. I was naïve to think that Davis wouldn't find a way to blackmail and plot his way back in, or Franklin would not hold a grudge," he firmly stated. "If I'd trusted your instincts a little more, I might have put more manpower into the investigation and not left it all to you on your own. I told you once before that you did what you had to do—no more and no less; that is true again. "

"Sir, it has truly been a pleasure working with you," William replied in turn, shaking the man's hand.

Julia said nothing, but stood there, her eyes brimming with tears.

 _Please, Julia! Think! Don't take this conversation at face value!_ William prayed.

Meyers, for his part merely looked from one face to another, mind doing a rapid recalibration. Eventually he decided on delivering a challenge. "Well played, Detective. We are trading treason for treason, are we?"

"Perhaps," William answered through gritted teeth, tapping into the rage he felt. "Betrayal certainly. Tell me this: How _did_ you know that it took three men to subdue Julia when she was kidnapped? You said, quote: _'_ _I swear she'd easily replace three of my male operatives, considering it takes three men to handle a firebrand such as herself.'_ How could you have really known that?" He heard his wife make a low sound of surprise.

William watched Meyers' face carefully, seeing the slightest tightening of his eyes, his gaze holding a bit too long; the man was otherwise preternaturally still. In the background Inspector Brackenreid shifted uncomfortably, and Julia's jaw dropped, her face flushing crimson.

"Mr. Meyers, here is how I think you know I did not kill Lydia Hall: it is because you had the Windsor under surveillance, just as you had the Bacchus Club, and who knows where else in your sights." When Meyers started to reject the notion, William made his next move. "Don't deny it. Julia and I found telltale signs in the third-floor linen service closet in the hallway outside our suite. _That_ is how you knew it took three men to kidnap Julia: your operative witnessed the event. Since it is not reasonable that you only set that up _after_ Miss Hall died, then you were conducting some sort of investigation coincidentally where I live and caught both these crimes as a by-product."

Now Meyers, the Inspector and his wife all gave William undivided attention, barely breathing. "Whatever you were primarily looking into is parallel to or intersects somehow with Mr. Graham's corruption and the national security threat angle but either is not ready to end or you have conducted it in such a way that you crossed the line in getting the information." He picked up one of the forgotten apples and waved it in front of him. "That is why you have to get it from me, because it is, to coin a phrase, fruit from the poisoned tree. Anything you obtained will be tainted evidence and inadmissible." _Check._ William's anger was palpable.

Meyers' eyes were flat, his voice hollow. "An interesting story, Detective. And here I thought we were friends. "

William's eyes remained steadily on Meyers but he gestured to the other two silent witnesses to this extraordinary exchange. "Friendship requires loyalty. Compassion. Sacrifice." His voice picked up a passionate tone with each word and phrase. "Do you sleep at night, Meyers? Does lack of a conscience give you good slumber, or is it locked away with the secrets you keep? You stood by and allowed an innocent woman to be murdered, me to be accused of such a crime, my wife to be abducted and you didn't do a thing!" William was nearly shouting now. He was counting on having closed off all avenues of dissemble to Meyers, leaving only the truth as a direction of escape.

"I couldn't!" Meyers argued back, suddenly jolted out of his stony attitude. "I only knew after the fact, I swear!" Meyers continued. "I had surveillance on persons of interest to His Majesty's government. I set up a trigger-mechanism scrutiny camera in the Windsor Hotel—your design by the way, Murdoch, using that clever time-stamp addition you came up with. How is that for irony?! His Majesty's government appropriated your idea to use a few years ago; a chap named Craig Grant whips them up—almost as good as you." He smiled then saw no one was amused. "But I digress… I have photographs of the men who are likely to have broken into your rooms and presumably assaulted you, killed her and left her body behind, but not of the murder itself. One of the men was definitely Franklin Williams…" His three companions broke into excited, angry commentary.

Meyers had to raise his voice over the din. "But I only knew about the pictures after the fact, as a consequence of my other activities, after they were developed!" he explained.

"You mean your _illegal activities,"_ Julia countered in seemed that she was starting to catch on to William's maneuver.

Meyers lowered his voice to mutter something like 'neither confirmed nor deny', then just winked and took a puff on his omnipresent cigar.

William knew he had the spy in a corner, no matter the man's outward appearance. William had met Meyers' superior, Mr. Arthur Percy Sherwood, Commissioner of Dominion Police, a person who did not put up with a quibble, let alone outright defiance. William knew if Terrence Meyers crossed a line, he would not be forgiven.

William placed his next move. "Pictures you had no authority to take. And the listening device?" William nearly growled that out. _Check._

"That was Grier's idea," the spy deflected away from himself.

"Just who were you surveilling?"

"I cannot tell you…"

William's gaze turned inwards. "But somehow those pictures will reveal it, isn't that the problem?"

Now all eyes turned back to the spy, whose silent face was pinched, all bluster temporarily set aside.

"You disgust me, Meyers," he remarked acidly, "hiding under the convenient umbrella of national security. Tell us. Why? What could possibly be so important that is was worth all these lives?" William asked the only question that mattered any more.

At that Meyers erupted. "Lock Eighteen!" He gestured as if that should be obvious, then rounded on the Detective. "Good God man! Read the papers, Murdoch. Anarchists. Labour unrest. Sabotage. We already had the one successful attack on the Welland canal in 1900. Three men! It took only three men to attack Lock twenty-four with simple dynamite. Then we have the Americans who are establishing a hegemony over the whole of North and South American continents, first economically and now militarily. Their so called _Monroe Doctrine_ expanded by President Roosevelt. Their corporations, their money influencing the political landscape, from elections to trade policy to currency to tariffs—you name it. Do you know how many millionaires there are just across the border in Buffalo? How eager they are to intrude into our country, buy up our real-estate, absorb us into their sphere?" He slammed his fists onto the table, jolting the lamp and bowl perilously. "How desperate they are to disrupt our economy, or to see unrest here so they can use this new 'Doctrine' to interfere with Canadian sovereignty?!"

William furrowed his brow. "Lock Eighteen? You mean the Merritton Tunnel on the Grand Trunk Railroad?" William's face changed immediately, offering insight to the Inspector and his wife. "A particularly vulnerable crossing of the Welland Canal and the railroad between Lakes Ontario and Erie. Meyers, what about that lock?"

Meyers explained. "An attack just there would cripple Canadian shipping and transportation, giving an edge to the Americans as well as provide just the pretext they need to intervene! We have prevented several acts of sabotage already, but this is the boldest conspiracy yet!"

Brackenreid introjected, "Never heard of those attempts, Meyers. I think this is all nonsense…"

William shook his head. "Nor would we if he's done his job, isn't that right, Mr. Meyers? You must have been spying on individuals who you believe are involved in that plot," his eyes narrowed, "and unexpectedly caught highly placed or politically sensitive co-conspirators, which is why you refuse to release your proof and need mine so badly."

The spy closed his mouth in a tight line.

 _Checkmate._

William sat back in his chair. "Well, Mr. Meyers. It seems that we both have something that the other party wants. I want proof of my innocence; you want the information I've amassed on Graham and Williams. What did you tell me a few days ago? _Quid pro quo_ , was it?"

The fours of them started at each other from seats around the table. Shaking his head solemnly, Meyers merely shrugged. Julia let out a raged breath and the Inspector tapped his fingers on the tabletop.

"Come on Meyers," Brackenreid cajoled. "There's got to be some way to clear Murdoch's name?" he asked.

Meyers shrugged. "I only have photographs of two people entering the exiting your rooms, with one face visible—that of Franklin Williams. We do not have proof of which man actually strangled the victim."

"What if you were to make a statement?" Julia suggested.

"A statement?" Meyers arched his brows quizzically.

"Yes, a statement. What if you were to make a statement to the crown prosecutor and the judge that you solemnly swear that you know Franklin Williams to have been directly involved in an assault on my husband and the murder of Lydia Hall, and that William is innocent. Then, you can tell the court that exposing the evidence to the public is not in the best interests of national security," Julia offered.

"I could offer an official statement or something like that, I suppose…" He flicked his eyes around the room suspiciously. "Only if I get my evidence."

"I will produce it as soon as you clear my name," William countered. "However, in a show of good faith, I will tell you the location of Chief Davis so that he may be safely retrieved before anyone else finds him. He's agreed to testify to his part, but only in exchange for a plea deal, same as Fergus and McFadden," he added.

"Looks like you have a deal, Mr. Meyers. After we task your men with squaring Davis away, it seems we need to wake a judge and a Crown Prosecutor," Brackenreid said.

"Yes, it seems we do," the man agreed, dropping his cigar to the floor and putting it out with his foot as he walked away to call in more of his men.

"So now we wait," Brackenreid surmised.

"Yes, while Meyers' men secure Davis, he can contact the Judge and the Crown Prosecutor. With any luck, this will be taken care of by morning." William confirmed. "I aim to have you back in your bed tonight, Julia," he added.

"I'm holding you to that promise, William Murdoch. Alongside you," she added herself.

"That goes without saying," he laughed.

"Oy, you two can make up for lost time later. Right now, you can fill me in on what the hell you two have been doing the past few days and how the Doctor got her new hairstyle and wardrobe," Brackenreid asked.

"Only if you first tell us the latest on the wounded men. Are they all right? " William asked

Brackenreid's face fell. "No, I guess you wouldn't know that bit as it's been kept tightly under wraps, thanks in part to his majesty's government. I was skulking about Toronto General earlier today. There is a section of rooms which are heavily guarded so I imagine that is where they are. I learned the reason for the news embargo is the assumption that the men are still in danger and that they have information about the shooters—interestingly enough, in the absence of Chief Davis it seems more true-blue men have asserted themselves, offering protective detail for our men. We still have some good coppers on the job and I got one to tell it to me straight."

Julia laid a hand on William's shoulder. "Please, Inspector, tell us how they are and we will tell you everything else."

"I'm told Crabtree and Higgins will be fine, but Jackson is dead. I'm sorry me ole' mucker. As soon as we clear your name, we're finding out exactly who did it, Murdoch," he ordered.

 _Yes, indeed we are_ , William thought as he blessed himself in Jackson's memory. But he pushed this thought aside as well, as now was not the proper time for it either. Exhaling sharply, he kicked one of the chairs over and paced the other side of the large room, leaving Julia to fill the Inspector in on the missing details.


	20. Friday Evening: Checkmate

Late Friday Evening

Night had fallen over the city after a long and trying day. William sat in the Inspector's leather office settee, head leaned back, content for the moment to be returned to Station House No. 4. Earlier in the afternoon, he and Julia had returned to their suite at the Windsor House to resume their own identities, clean up and redress in their own clothes; he arranged for a new mattress and bedding to be delivered and set up while he was at it.

William had no sleep the previous night and precious little in the days preceding, so by now he was exhausted and his head pounded. Much to his relief, Terrance Meyers evaporated, presumably to Ottawa by special train, after giving a deposition and collecting his intelligence after reminding them of the necessity for secrecy about his activities. Julia, the Inspector and Detective Watts convened over final editions of all of the Toronto newspapers and copies of depositions from Davis, McFadden, Fergus as well as Grier. Three out of four of them were already whisked away into protective custody, while Robert Graham was in a special cell under one on one guard, refusing to speak to anyone but his lawyer. William observed to the room that was probably wise.

"I am not sure wisdom has anything to do with it." Detective Watts chimed in. "Self-preservation more like it."

"Bloody well more like it. If he was all that intelligent he'd have never been caught," Brackenreid chortled. "Can't say as I like the idea of Davis and the others getting off light but that bastard Graham is the mastermind behind all this chaos so as long as he goes down for it we'll call it a day."

Detective Watts rose to pick up a battered hat and settle it on his head, signaling his intention to leave. "Indeed, Inspector. I have enough witness statements and physical evidence placing Councilor Williams and Robert Graham at the scene of Edward Dobbs' death to charge Mr. Graham with murder and conspiracy to commit murder with Councilor Williams, even without Chief Davis or the Black Hand men's testimony. Your deposition, Detective Murdoch, about what Miss Hall witnessed is corroborated by the Edison cylinder you retrieved and the physical evidence a concerned citizen wrote to me anonymously about." Watts looked meaningfully at the other detective.

William merely shrugged. He'd come to have vague doubts about who was the real mastermind and he was never going to acknowledge the letter came from him since it might give an enterprising defense lawyer an opening. Acknowledging Watts he said softly: "That creates a logical alternative theory of Miss Hall's death as well, along with the photographs of Franklin Williams entering my home coinciding with the time of her death."

"I also have enough now to charge him and Chief Davis with conspiracy in the shooting of our constables." All four of them looked pained about that senseless act. "I have yet to identify the gunmen, but I understand Mr. Grier is assisting with that. Interesting fellow, that Mr. Grier. He seems to know an awful lot about all of this while being innocent of any of it." Watts left that open, perhaps to be enlightened about Grier's role in the case, but as no one added anything, he made for the door.

William stirred to bid Watt's goodbye. "Thank you, Detective, for all your help." He grasped Watt's own hand firmly. After his wife and the Inspector also shared their gratitude, Watts gathered his papers and went out into the night.

Brackenreid refilled his drink from the sideboard. "The only thing going to save Mr. Graham from hanging is if he can reveal the entire scope of the American-backed conspiracy, but that is no longer our problem." He placed a finger on the Toronto Gazette's bold black headline and slid the edition across his desk: "DETECTIVE MURDOCH EXONERATED IN DANCER'S DEATH; DISRUPTED DASTERDLY POLITICAL PLOT."

William pursed his lips and pushed the paper aside. "Do you think it will be really that simple, sir?" His eyes travelled back and forth between his superior and his wife who sat engrossed in reading the file of Franklin Williams' postmortem. He brushed some specks from his trousers while contemplating what was bothering him so much. Though the sleek outfit was more restrictive than the clothes he'd worn for the past week, his smart suit was more comfortable to him, it represented the man he actually was rather than the man that he was capable of being. Stroking his chin, he enjoyed the familiarity of bare skin, although he detected some reluctance on Julia's part when he lathered up to shave. In the mirror he had appeared haggard, haunted on the outside, matching his mood exactly.

Julia closed the folder she was reading and took a sip of her own drink. Not being able to find a wig close to her previous hairstyle, she had resorted to purchasing one that bore a striking resemblance to the style she had sported when she had been married to Darcy. It was pretty enough, but William already told her he preferred her wild tangle of unruly curls to the sleek, perfectly coiffed style. She was half tempted to leave the wig off altogether and see how he'd respond, but William's mood was not as upbeat and relieved as she expected it to be at this point and decided to leave him alone for time being. "William, you look disturbed." She saw the Inspector noticed the same thing.

"Yes, Murdoch. What's wrong? Can't you ever be satisfied? You've been declared innocent, Franklin Williams is dead, Davis is headed for jail, Graham with his cronies are ruined and his henchmen are done for. We solved two murders and broke open a political conspiracy that threatened Toronto the Good. All is all a day's work." Brackenreid's exasperation was showing.

He set aside the brandy that Julia insisted he take for medicinal purposes and answered. "I am not convinced it was _not_ Terrence Meyers who ended Franklin Williams."

Julia weighed in. "Yes. It seems blunt force trauma wasn't the cause of Mr. Williams' death, but asphyxiation was. That carriage ran over a dead body, William. It was no accident," she stated, shaking her head as she put the file on Brackenreid's desk.

"Who performed the postmortem anyway?" he asked.

"One of Terrence Meyers' men, I assumed. The name has been redacted, of course," she replied with a laugh.

"Strangulation again? Or smothering?" William wondered aloud

"Strangulation. I'm not sure, and quite frankly, I don't give a damn," Julia replied turning around and facing William directly before resuming her seat.

William's disquiet was growing. "Who do you suppose really did it?"

Brackenreid agreed. "They were killing each other, as far as I can tell. Probably one of the gunmen who shot our men."

"Whom we still have not identified!" William could not leave it alone. "And sir, there was another man who accompanied Franklin Williams when he killed Lydia Hall—we are only assuming Williams did the deed; other men have gotten away with murder…" There were other things trying to fit themselves together in the back of his mind and the itch of it left him uncomfortable. "Do you really think we have done everything necessary?"

"Damned right I do," he slapped his thigh. "By the time we are finished, that bunch of co-conspirators will happily point fingers at each other—do our work for us. Bloody Hell! After they get done with _us_ in the papers, I might get to be Chief Constable and you might get a mention from His Majesty at New Years!" Brackenreid was quite pleased at the prospect and beamed just imagining it, picking up the paper again to read where his own name was prominently mentioned as critical to solving the _'Dastardly Political Plot.'_

William waved his hand dismissing the promise of honours. "And Jeffrey Davis? He is not going to be held accountable for all he has done."

"He'll get what's coming to him. Besides, he won't be our problem anymore," the Inspector continued.

"How can you be so sure?" William asked.

Brackenreid just looked at William, and said nothing, taking a slug of his drink.

 _Does the Inspector know something more than he's letting on?_ Opening his mouth to inquire what the man was on about, he was interrupted by Julia before he could get the question passed his lips.

"William, please. For once just let it be." Her terse comment was washed away by throwing back her drink. "Surely you've learned something in all of this? That one shouldn't always blindly pursue the truth," she implored.

Glancing at the Inspector to see if he would elaborate further, William was disappointed to find the man siding with his wife. "Come now, Murdoch. Surely you've been married long enough to know when to do what the wife says, don't you?" he agreed, nodding at Julia, who merely shook her head and laughed. "Besides, she's a woman, of course she thinks she's bloody right."

Sighing deeply, he forced himself to relinquish his objections. He had told himself that seeking justice for Dobbs was paramount, but most of this mess could have been avoided if he'd just heeded the Inspector's words and ceased his investigations 10 days ago. Lydia Hall might still be alive in another city, Julia would never have been kidnapped and placed in mortal danger once again, and Constable Jackson would still be alive. Scowling at no one in particular, William gingerly sipped the drink. _Perhaps something to calm my nerves is a good idea_ … then he thought the better of it: _I must pay a visit to the confessional as soon as possible. Trying to drink my problems away will only result in me turning into my father._

Perceptive as always, Brackenreid shook his head. "I know what you're thinking, Murdoch, and you're not the only one to blame here. I meant what I said before in that warehouse. Besides, I knew damn well you were going to keep investigating Dobbs' death and I didn't even try to stop you." He paused for emphasis. "Any man who makes decisions, or who takes responsibility, has been wrong. You can't escape it. It makes us who we are." He drained his drink. "Leave it be. For once in our life, just let the matter lie."

"And I'm asking you to let it go as well, William. Though it may be jungle justice, I'm asking you to let it be just this once and not pursue it. A bad end befell a bad man, and I refuse to be upset that someone may be getting away with it," she stated firmly.

Seeing the fire in her eyes, he relented and nodded his agreement. "Very well, Julia. In the light of all that's happened, I won't pursue the matter further."

"So, tomorrow we're going to mourn Jackson, celebrate his life and then you're going to take a day off, come back to work Monday morning and go back to doing what you always do," Brackenreid advised, closing his desk and getting himself ready to go home. "Good night Doctor, Detective."

"Good night sir, and my regards to Mrs. Brackenreid." William watched the Inspector leave. He turned to his wife, and held her arms in his hands, speaking sincerely. "As much as I hate to admit it, Meyers was right—we needed to do this together, Julia, and together we prevailed. The Inspector has the right idea about leaving this all for Monday."

Julia let out a sign of relief. "William, I'd like to go home now myself," she stated, rising to allow William to help her with her jacket.

"Of course, doctor," William murmured, staring at her lips as he breathed in her jasmine fragrance. They were perfectly alone since the Inspector had left, and now that the biggest crises had been settled, tonight, he wanted to resume his marriage. Though he was exhausted, he grabbed her close to him and let her feel his desire. "Perhaps we can continue this discussion at home, over a fine meal, followed by a hot bath?" he asked, headache dissipating with her proximity.

"Mmmm, that sounds most delightful. We have not eaten, really since luncheon and my stomach is telling me I am quite hungry." She lowered her lashes. "And Detective, could I persuade you to join me in this bath?" she whispered.

"I think I can be convinced," he replied with a laugh.

Outside the stationhouse, William handed Julia into a hansom to dispatch them to the Windsor Hotel. The gentle sway of the carriage was pleasant and soothing, and the couple sat closely in a warm, quiet rapport; the confines lending intimacy and captured and concentrated her perfume. William inhaled with delighted anticipation, kissing her fingertips then gently touching a strand of her blonde wig. His face quirked into a grin and he whispered, "I assume this will not accompany you into the water later."

"William, are you adapting to my new coiffeur?" She smiled, remembering the keepsake she assumed was still in one of his many pockets. "I know you took a lock of my hair…" He made a gesture with his head—she could not tell if it was embarrassment or not. "It _will_ grow back, you know, eventually," she paused, " _if_ I want it so. As for the red colour, I will have to look up how long that endures." She took his lapels and looked at him from under her lashes. "You will just have to make do with this particular variety in the meantime."

"Mmmm…" and a kiss was all the reaction from him she required.

By the time William opened the door to their suite he had developed a rather vivid fantasy in his mind of making love to Julia; the wild passion of Wednesday night had been remarkable, but not what he hoped for tonight. As soon as he locked the door behind him he slid her jacket off, making sure he brushed her shoulders and kissed the back of her neck. "Shall we order dinner? I imagine I can get the kitchen to send something up, even at this late hour." He checked his watched and chuckled. "It is not Friday anymore, so perhaps some cold chicken or ham?"

Julia poured herself a sherry and sipped, crossing back to where he was poised by the telephone. "Yes, I think so…but tell them to hurry in promise of a generous gratuity. I am quite…famished," she finished with a teasing flash of her eyes.

William placed the order, then approached her, placing his left hand slowly and firmly around her slim waist. His right hand removed the sherry glass from her and set it aside then guided her head to his for a velvet brush of his lips against hers. "Oh, Julia…" he breathed before putting his mouth on hers to draw her tighter.

"Yes, William, did you require something?" Julia stroked his cheek and flicked her thumbs over his long thick lashes.

"I believe I do," he answered, followed by a languorous kiss, then another deeper one, repositioning his mouth to make sure every inch of her lips was properly kissed. When she seemed to give way in his arms, he swung her up to carry her to their bedroom, pushing the French door open with his foot.

Much to her surprise, the room was attractively rearranged with the bed on the opposite wall and the furniture repositioned. The bed itself was covered in a light blue flowered spread with lace-trimmed linens peeking out, matched by bright white curtains at the window. While everything was there, including William's 'bench' at the end of the bed, the whole effect was as if it was a different hotel room altogether. She let out a small gasp and wiggled to get down. "William, this is wonderful," she said as she spied a silk nightgown across the bed. She picked it up, seeing the diagonal bands of strategically placed fabric interspersed by revealing lace inserts and put it up to her shoulders to twirl once, feeling the silk flow out in an iridescent blue fan. "When? How?" she asked, excited and gratified by what he had done. Flitting so briefly through her brain was another thought that rose and evaporated before she could mark it: _And thank god he did….I was almost afraid to look in here and see…what, a memory? A ghost?_

William was feeling smug, seeing how much Julia liked his efforts. "I asked Lizzy if she could get one of the porters to help her since we changed the bed anyway—how the room was arranged was her idea," he said, praising one of the Windsor's maids they knew well. Instinctively he knew the room had to be 'different' for them to feel at ease. "As for that piece in your hand, while you shopped for a wig, M. Ducharme showed me a few items." He smiled to see her hold it up to the mirror. "I think you'll find it will bring out the blue in your eyes and contrast nicely with the red in your hair…" William came up behind her and unpinned the blond tresses from her head. "I picked it out myself," he made sure she knew.

Indeed, the colour was most beguiling as well as flattering. "This is lovely—shall I put it on for you?" she asked. _Silly question, why else would he get this?_ She did not wait for an answer, getting out of her blouse. "Here, help me undress."

William assisted with her corset, easily undoing the laces, which felt marvelous as the pressure on her torso released. "I must say, a week without a corset on was quite liberating, so much so that I am contemplating going without. If I remind myself to sit and stand straight, pull in my stomach, I do believe no one would be the wiser." She said as she undid the clasp on her skirt.

He kissed her shoulders and the back of her exposed neck. " _I_ would be the wiser, Julia, and then I would have to contemplate your accessible person each time you left home."

Julia stepped out of the skirt, bending over to pick it up in a most provocative way. "Well, yes, William. That would be the point after all." She was rewarded by his eyes going blacker and wider. He seemed to pause and was about to make some sort of move when a sharp knock on the door startled them both into a laugh. "Well you did tell them to make it quick! There are some coins for a tip by the door." While her husband fetched dinner, she dispensed with the remainder of her clothing and slipped her new nightgown on, admiring the drape and swing of the fabric while contemplating how happy she felt. For the first time in what seemed like eons, she and William were in complete harmony, the past banished and only the present moment having any importance. She heard him arrange the dished on their dining table before turning around to view her. _Oh, he may get great pleasure from believing he belongs to me, but I am captivated entirely by him._ His stunned gaze, full of naked desire, made her desperate to touch him and be touched by him.

 _She's done it again,_ William recognized the familiar feeling. _She's taken my breath away_. A surge of electricity shot through him, propelling him to close the distance between them and take her fiercely in his arms, her warm skin a match for the heat he felt in himself. "Oh, Julia," he moaned as he kissed her face, the utter pleasure of having her safe and with him was overpowering.

He picked her up again and placed her gently on the bed. "Oh, Julia," he repeated, finding her eyes with his, searching for their real connection. "You are so very brave and so very beautiful, and I am so very blessed to have you as my wife."

Julia felt herself melt under the intensity of his appreciation. "And have me you shall, now." She smiled naughtily, thinking of their assignation at the flop house: "Just mind the lace…."


	21. Saturday: Letting Go

Ch 21

 **Epilogue**

"… _Eternal God, our maker and redeemer, grant us our Brother Augustus and all the faithful departed  
the sure benefits of your Son's saving passion and glorious resurrection: that, in the last day, when you gather up all things in Christ, we may with them enjoy the fullness of your promises; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who is alive and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen." _

"Amen."

The grave-side service broke up and mourners filed solemnly across sparkling green grass toward waiting carriages. William and Julia passed close by a black horse-drawn hearse with its six finials, where several constables took the opportunity to shake the detective's hand in greeting or congratulate him on being exonerated. There had been only one or two angry looks his way; for the rest of them, the officers openly accepted William back into the fold, satisfied by the public explanation for what had transpired over the last two weeks and willing to put it all behind them, going so far as to offer congratulations for a job well done.

William swallowed, his mood queasy. _If only I felt that way._

Julia had her hand on her husband's arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. Julia knew quite well how much her husband thought of the Constabulary as a place of belonging and hoped he was buoyed by the public affirmation. William usually slept very soundly after making love, and that, combined with a general depleting of resources should have kept him unconscious for at least eight hours. Not last night. Julia found him at their dining table amidst a litter of paper at three in the morning. He told her to go back to bed and he'd join her shortly, but it was clear by daylight that he'd been up all night. The complete contentment she felt after reuniting with William was, sadly, dissipating.

"Murdoch, Doctor," Inspector Brackenreid greeted as he and his wife approached. "Looks like the force turned out in their finest to lay Jackson to rest. I thought the bagpipes were a nice touch."

"Er…yes. Good afternoon inspector, Mrs. Brackenreid," William said distractedly. "I see that George and Henry were unable to make it to the service. Do you have any more updates?"

The inspector leaned in, the gravity of the situation lightened by a gleam in his eye. "Aye, there is. It appears that the both of them were completely crackers for a while, going on about some nonsense or other about space pirates, talking trees, women with green skin and a talking raccoon who kept yelling about breaking out the armory of all things! Kept their nurses in stitches they did, and don't remember a thing. Something tells me we'll have a good laugh about this," he frowned again, "at least eventually."

"Delirium and hallucinations are not uncommon if one is ill enough or taking certain medications, but it is good to know that the symptoms have passed," Julia commented to her husband.

William did not respond. He walked slowly, absorbed in his worried thoughts, nearly running into a passing hansom.

Brackenreid pulled him aside. "Oy, look out. What's got into you?"

"He thinks he found another problem with the case, Inspector," Julia sighed. "Something about Mr. Grier."

The two couples stood out of the flow of mourners under a broad copper beech tree. The inspector asked his wife for privacy, and despite being offended about being left out, she complied. Once they were alone, William continued.

"You saw that paper, sir?" William unfolded the late afternoon edition of the _Gazette_ from his jacket. Two articles were circled in ink.

" _ **CHIEF CONSTABLE DAVIS A HERO: SUCCUMBED TO WOUNDS SUFFERED WHILE PROTECTING CONSTABLES SHOT IN CHURCH."**_ and _**"**_ _ **RIOGHNAN O'SULLIVAN APPOINTED TO BOARD OF CONTROL VACANCY: AGREES TO CONTINUE MELINDA STREET PROJECT WITH OWN FORTUNE."**_

"Sir, though I made the recording, Davis was alive when I left him in the warehouse, a warehouse owned by Mr. O'Sullivan. How did he die? Or am I supposed to accept that I'll never know that either?" William tersely asked.

"Yeah, damn shame about Davis, dying a hero and all. The bastard deserved a coward's sendoff, not a hero's farewell," Brackenreid commented.

"Sir," William snapped, probably with more vigor than he should have so he bit the rest of his opinion off with effort.

"You'll forgive me if I don't care, Murdoch. Meyers said something about him being killed in an escape attempt with the Dominion Police and to be honest, I wasn't inclined to ask too many questions, I can well imagine neither the Board of Control nor the Constabulary are going to be inclined to have their collective judgement about reinstating Davis exposed to public scrutiny. Maybe Davis did die in an escape attempt—I can certainly attest to his drive for self-preservation. Or perhaps someone decided that with all he knew, he was too big of a threat to have loose and they removed the 'troublesome' personage as Meyers has been wont to say. He was a bad bloke who did bad things, he made deals with the Devil and in the end, the Devil claimed him. He got the end he deserved, and Margaret knows he didn't die as a result of her shooting him. I don't give a toss about anything else," he snapped back.

Piggybacking off the Inspector, Julia continued their mutual viewpoint. "And as for the Melinda Street project, so what if Mr. O'Sullivan's gained an advantage as a result of this whole situation? He has been moving in political circles for years and he's a very savvy businessman who supports decent wages for workers. Did you know he started out as a mere child down on the docks, using a rowboat to move sailors back and forth from ship to shore, then making small deliveries? He built that into a huge enterprise by taking risks and looking for an opening to expand. That's what businessmen do, William: they seize opportunities!" She was exasperated. He had gone over this already with her and she thought it was settled.

William was unconvinced. "What if he and Meyers were working together, possibly using each other all along? Think of what Meyers said about threats to the Welland canal: any disruption in that could have ruined Mr. O'Sullivan, giving him have an interest in protecting his shipping and making him a natural ally of Mr. Meyers."

"And a natural enemy of the Americans and the Black Hand?" Brackenreid supplied.

"Precisely." William agreed. "Did it never occur you that the Black Hand, a notorious Italian-American crime family, emphasis on the word _family_ , would hire Irish gang members like Fergus and McFadden? "

"The better to blend into Toronto, I suppose?" Brackenreid answered. " _Ey-talians_ are far and few between, but _Micks_ are a dime a dozen. "

"Er...exactly." William regretted the slurs but was intent on his message, gesturing agitatedly. "And we know Mr. O'Sullivan has been tied to Irish gang members." William persisted. "And what about Mr. Grier?"

Brackenreid rolled his eyes and shook his head, his patience clearly being tested. "What about Grier? He's Meyers' man and his testimony is key to the whole case. He was placed undercover with the Black Hand in order to get information on the American conspiracy to entice or suborn Canadians into betraying their country. He's given his depositions and has melted back into his hole. End of story."

"Yes," William answered. "But, sir-don't you think it was odd, suspicious even, that Mr. Grier set up recording devices and just happened to get them turned on at exactly the right time? That Mr. Grier, a shadowy third man, knew all about Julia's kidnapping but somehow did not really know who killed Miss Hall and Mr. Dobbs? Who just happened to call off Fergus and McFadden in perfect timing for you, Inspector, to enter that building and be confronted by Davis? Mr. Grier who took Franklin Williams away to an undisclosed location from where he was ultimately killed? How did Mr. Grier know everything he appeared to know? Such as the location of Mr. O'Sullivan's warehouse where Davis was stashed?"

"William! What are you saying?" Julia was astonished at the exchange she was hearing…this was beyond what he had discussed with her and she wondered where he was taking these ideas.

He nodded at his wife but kept his intentions on the Inspector. "Sir…what if O'Sullivan has been running the whole show from the background all along, has been behind this whole affair from the beginning, plotting, manipulating, for months perhaps years to get into this position where everything is upended and no one can predict the final outcome? What if he is not _exploiting_ a sudden opportunity but _created_ all the intervening chaos just to arrive at this end?"

"That's a little farfetched, isn't it Murdoch? What kind of madman would orchestrate all of this, especially if he could never in a million years have predicted exactly how it would all turn out?" Brackenreid was having trouble accepting that idea at the same time the hairs were standing out on his neck. "Poppycock," he said, hoping to convince the Detective.

"Think about it, Inspector: Mr. Graham was a powerful business rival and now he and his entire operation are in ruins. Alderman Hubbard is getting people to ask questions about those shady land deals you say are so common. Chief Davis is gone. The balance of power on the Board of Control has shifted towards O'Sullivan's interests-Mr. O'Sullivan is now viewed as a community savior. What if we were all unwitting pawns?" William's grievance with the outcome was plain. "I think Mr. Grier was in reality Mr. O'Sullivan's operative, on loan, perhaps to Mr. Meyers and placed inside the Black Hand, but having a separate agenda."

"I told you—leave it alone, Murdoch. Don't let perfect become the enemy of the good. We've had enough. Margaret and I are going home to enjoy a quiet afternoon in our own house. I suggest you do something similar. See you Monday, eight o'clock sharpish."

Walking towards the carriages, William saw Percival Giles clad in a plain, cheap, black suit that was unrecognizable from his Constabulary days. But his erect and proper bearing was not; William would recognize him anywhere.

Excusing himself from Julia for a moment, William walked over to the man.

"Mr. Giles, thank you for coming," William offered his hand, making sure anyone who was watching could see him doing so.

"It was the least I could do," the other man quietly said, returning the handshake. "Constable Jackson was a fine man, and one whose death is partly my fault."

"Your fault, sir?" William wondered.

"Yes, mine. If I didn't have my own secrets to keep hidden, I could have neutralized Davis and perhaps others as well. But alas, I was too concerned about what he might expose, and thus, I turned a blind eye to his misdeeds. As such, this mess fell to you to clean up, and it could have killed you or those you love. This is what I have always meant about secrets, Detective. It's best to live your life in a way where they can't have any hold over you." he explained.

"Yes, sir. I think I see what you're talking about now," William agreed.

"We all have our secrets, Detective. It's human. Just don't allow your life to become ruled by them, Murdoch." Giles straightened his shoulders, nodded once and turned to walk away.

Returning to Julia, William took her hand and boarded their carriage for the ride home. He jostled back and forth on the bench, feeling a churning in his guts. Giles statements on secrets collided with the disquiet that which permeated his awareness for days, that feeling that there was something darker, greater, somehow going on, larger than even Mr. Graham's foul deeds or Terrence Meyers' claims of national security, formed a lump in his throat he could not swallow down. It seemed to him that it was Mr. O'Sullivan's hand which was behind every move, wreaking havoc in the financial and political landscape of Toronto with the sole aim of turning over the key players. All he could do was ask himself: _What is going to be the final price for all that chaos?_

Picking up the newspaper, he glanced at it again before looking out the window.

Sighing heavily next to him, William both heard and felt his wife's displeasure in the small hansom cab.

"Julia, I can't just…" William began before Julia cut him off.

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she shook her head vigorously, trying to hold her temper back. "Damn your stubbornness, William Murdoch! How many times does the Inspector have to tell you leave it alone? How many times have I said it for that matter? Do I mean nothing to you? Why can't you just go along with my wishes just this once and please let this matter drop?" she demanded.

"Yes, I asked myself that same question just a couple of nights ago. I begged you to remain in the hotel room until I returned, and you just couldn't do that, could you?" he groused.

"Someone had to rescue your obstinate ass." Her riposte was on target. "Besides, what if you're wrong, William. You don't have conclusive evidence that they're involved, please just leave it be, William," she pleaded tearfully.

Exhaling sharply, he glanced back out the window. He and Julia would be taking possession of their new suite this evening, and he didn't want to mar the fresh start with an old argument. They had agreed the move would be a way to abandon what had ailed them for much of the past year.

"William, how can I trust you to be a father and always be there for our hoped-for family if you're always chasing ghosts?" she asked after a few minutes of silence.

Exhaling loudly, he looked at the worn newspaper in his hand. He had no comeback for her excellent point, and perhaps it was time to ignore that insistent part of his mind and just heed Julia's and the Inspector's words for once and bring himself into a state of self-possession. He had plenty of issues to address closer to home.

"You're right, Julia. This afternoon, we're making a new start and working towards our future," he reassured her, tearing the paper in half.

Surprised, she stared at him, expecting this to be a much longer argument. "William? Just like that?" she wondered.

"Oh, I still have my misgivings, but it needn't always be me who fixes them," he quietly admitted, while painfully aware of his own errors which spring from his character. "Didn't I promise you that I would make you more of a priority? That I would be more attentive to you?"

Laying her head on his shoulder, she squeezed his thigh. "I'm proud of you William. Hopefully sometime soon, you're going to have a family that will also have to be your priority," she reminded him.

"Yes, and no time like the present to begin," he whispered, nipping her ear as he pulled her in closer.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Two Months Later

Through the help of Father Clemens, and the occasional reminder from both the Inspector and Julia to let things be, William had done just that. Though he couldn't be sure that O'Sullivan hadn't just masterminded the entire situation to gain power for himself, he ultimately remained uninvolved with any further investigation. He was a married man now, and his priority had to be his family. No child had been procured as of yet, but inquiries had been made with various orphanages and they were also searching for a new piece of land upon which to build their house.

But alas, those details were for the future. Tonight, he was putting his marriage first, and remembering that Julia loved her experiences (as did he for that matter), he had arranged a bit of a surprise for her.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Julia didn't know what William had planned for her, but whatever it was, it seemed big if his smile was anything to go by. At 7:30 p.m., he escorted her to the back entrance of the Star Room and knocked on the door. When the guard answered it, William thrust her forward and said that Miss Bloom was expecting her.

"William?" Julia asked hesitantly.

"I'll see you in a few minutes. I'll be at a table inside," he reassured her with a kiss.

Hurrying towards the dressing room, Julia quickly found Nina Bloom waiting for her. "Julia," she greeted her with a warm smile while ushering her towards her makeup table.

A short while later, Julia was once again disguised as her alter ego 'Ruby,' the party hostess with scandalous hair, cosmetics, and black dress with the plunging neckline and the shrinking hemline that fell above her knees. The same black mask was reapplied to hide her identity, and Julia smiled at the reflection. She looked nothing like her normal self.

"I don't suppose my husband has explained any of his plan to you, has he?" Julia asked.

"He may have mentioned something about you always having wanted to see the show, and since a respectable woman as yourself could never attend, a disguise was necessary," she explained with a knowing grin.

"Well yes, I suppose that's true. However, why couldn't I have gone in with him in a disguise of my own choosing?" Julia wondered aloud.

"Well, I'm no psychiatrist, but I suspect that's more for his benefit, actually," she giggled. "All I know is that I was instructed to give you this bottle of champagne and instruct you to find his table out there," she smiled.

"Ah yes, an experience for both of us, I see," Julia laughed. Knowing William, he'd wanted her to recreate her persona and role from the Bacchus Club. Shaking her head, she collected the bottle and strode out into the audience. Spotting him at one of the premium tables with a small red velvet loveseat, she made it a point to work the room and flirt with a few of the guests just so she could make him a bit jealous. Once she reached his table, she saw that he had mussed his hair (just as she liked it) and loosened his tie. Smiling at his rakish appearance, she held the bottle of champagne up, "Is this what you requested, sir?"

She couldn't help but react to the way he looked at her with unchecked passion as he took in her appearance. "It most certainly is," he rumbled lowly. "Pour two glasses, won't you?" he directed.

Obliging, she did as she asked and wondered if that was all.

Laughing, he shook his head. "Hardly," he snorted, abruptly pulling her into his lap and quickly kissing her.

"I dare say, William, this is quite the little experience you've planned." she giggled.

"That was the idea, Julia, mutual gratification. You can take in the show, and I can behave in a manner most unbecoming to a gentleman," he whispered into her ear as he traced her plunging neckline with his finger and kissed her again.

Looking around, Julia saw that they were somewhat hidden for the most part, and that the table obscured his hand having slipped up her skirt. Deciding to simply embrace the moment, Julia grabbed a glass of champagne and exposed her neck to him as he kissed it. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she spotted none other than Terrence Meyers and Riognhan O'Sullivan strolling into the room and taking another premium table even more hidden than theirs. Recognizing the both of them, Meyers stopped in surprise before he winked at her and O'Sullivan laughed heartily before disappearing into the alcove.

Julia immediately found her mind spinning. _Strange that they should be together? Why is that? Had William been onto something with assertions that O'Sullivan was responsible for setting everything into motion?_

"Julia?" William asked, sensing that something was amiss. "What is it?"

If William could leave something be as she had asked, she knew that she had better do the same. She shook her head and gulped the entire glass of champagne down before refilling it. Enough of the drink, and she believed that what she had just seen was a figment of her imagination.

"Nothing, William," she reassured him. "Just looking around and wondering if anyone else here has secrets much like we do," she replied before taking his mouth in a searing kiss.

"A wise and beautiful woman once told me that everyone has their secrets," he teased as he played with one of the garters on her stockings.

"Indeed, they must," she replied. _The lighting was dark, she'd only seen the men for the briefest of moments; perhaps it really hadn't been them._ Or so she convinced herself as she drank her champagne and gave into the sensations of William's fingers lightly tracing circles on her inner thigh as the music heralding the start of the show began.

 _ **-END-**_

 _ **Dear Reader: Fallenbelle and RuthieGreen wish to thank you for coming along for the ride. We have no idea how Peter Mitchell* will actually solve the mess he made at the end of S10, but this is our crack at it. We hope you liked our version and thank you to those who posted reviews and positive reinforcement for our work—it is very meaningful to us when you take the time to comment, and it is often a source of inspiration**_ _._ _ **Take a risk! Post a comment! It is easy to do!**_ _ **Keep those cards and letters coming!**_

 _*Any resemblance between Mr. Mitchell and the character of Mr. O'Sullivan in the piece might be really good insight on your part! -rg_


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